Trouble: An Alpha Billionaire Romance by Lane, Ellen (10)

Chapter 3: The Beast

 

The Tate Manor garden was as expansive as it was serene. Even though Rose had grown up in a gargantuan house with its own gardens, they couldn’t compare with the lush landscaping of Northern England. In the middle of summer, all the flowers were in full bloom, and she spent at least an hour or two every day seated beneath the branches of a spreading poplar, taking in the loveliness of the scenery.

But the gardens also served another purpose: they distracted her.

For the past three days, she’d been able to think about little else aside from her interlude with Michael in the kitchen, and it was driving her slightly batty.

Rose wouldn’t consider herself an obsessive personality. There were things that she loved – things that she was utterly devoted to; but obsession? Obsession was dangerous. She knew because she watched her family obsess over their wealth and prestige. She watched people obsess over their material obsessions and she watched developed countries obsess over how to hone their edge over those who needed their help.

She was beginning to worry that she was on the edge of obsession.

Her issue wasn’t with Michael himself. She barely knew him well enough to insinuate such feelings. It was the feelings he inspired in her that worried her so. It was almost as if every time she closed her eyes she felt him touching her – remembered how hungrily he’d kissed her.

It was absolutely absurd. She was a grown woman and far beyond childish flights of fantasy. She didn’t believe in all the harlequin romance novels that flew off the shelves or the silly romance movies that women flocked to see. Rose believed in what she could see, hear, taste and touch.

Of course, she had done all of those things with Michael fairly recently, which made her current predicament all the harder to bear.

Taking a deep breath, Rose let it out slowly, attempting to calm the hormones that threatened to end her. She tried to concentrate on anything save the heat that flared in her belly when she thought of Lord Michael Tate. It was a gorgeous day, with the sun shining high overhead. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, nor was it too hot to spend a reasonable amount of time outside. Truth be told, if Rose could spend the entire day outside, she would. It meant that she didn’t have to be inside. If she was inside, her chances of running into Michael increased tenfold, and it was hard enough trying to endure mealtimes as it was.

The Countess was insufferable. If she tried to get them together with any more flagrancy she’d all but be shoving them into the same bed together. At every opportunity, she tried to suggest activities that Rose and her son could endeavor upon together, and if that didn’t work, she all but shoved them into the same room together. Then, of course, it was up to Rose to think of a suitable excuse so that she could flee; and if the endeavor had been difficult before, now it was impossible.

Every time Mike looked at her with those intense eyes of his, Rose felt she knew exactly what he was thinking – and it was absolutely nothing clandestine.

Rose knew because her own thoughts were far from appropriate themselves. Whenever she was near Michael, all she could think about was his hands around her waist. The way his mouth fit against hers and the heat of his lips against her throat. She recalled, over and over, the way he’d lifted her onto the pristine marble counter to press every inch of his body against hers. If she hadn’t asked him to stop….

Well, Rose wasn’t a little girl. She knew exactly what would have taken place. Worse, she’d wanted it. It was the first time in her life that her sensibilities had intervened and she’d cursed them flagrantly. When Michael had her in his grasp, all she wanted was for him to carry her up the stairs to his room and have his way with her – and damn her sensibilities.

It was that abandon that intimidated her – that led her to flee out to the gardens where Michael seldom ventured. If she was alone with him, she had no idea what trouble she’d get into, and she wasn’t too keen to find out.

Well, she was …but that was precisely why she had to avoid him.

Shielding her face from the sun, the young woman glanced back towards the manor from whence she’d come. It was no less imposing than it had been the first day she’d arrived, but after exploring it, Rose found the property slightly more palatable. At least, she placated herself, the Tates were allocated a house that had already been around for the better part of two centuries. Her own parents had cleared an entire London block to have their manor built – several historical buildings had been ground to dust, and their tenants effectively bought out. But, of course, there could be nothing but the best for the Lithgalls.

The mere memory made Rose grimace.

As her gaze slid over the centuries old stone walls of the Tate manor, she took in the exquisite windows and the scenes beyond them - rooms filled with elegant gilt furniture and expensive artwork – and then there was Michael’s room. Rose had learned exactly where it was on the second floor as the man himself usually perched on the balcony, king of all he surveyed.

Most recently, however, Michael had been surveying her.

Rose felt her cheeks flush darkly as her eyes met his. He wasn’t even pretending to take in the beauty of the gardens. Instead, he was focused on her and her alone. Rose was suddenly incredibly self-conscious of the cream-silk dress she wore. She had dressed for the weather, and all at once, she was aware of how much of her shoulders and neck were exposed. Reaching up, she let her hair down so it could help cover her, even as she berated herself for being so intimidated by a single man.

Rose had been standing up to men all her life. Men liked to tell her how unsafe it was for her to travel on her own. How she couldn’t really make as much of a difference as she hoped because no one would ever listen to her. Now, however, she was faced with a man who threatened, not her causes, but her femininity. One could call him a gentleman all one liked, but Rose knew the truth: Michael was a predator lying in wait to pounce; and now that he’d had a taste of her, he would never give up.

Rising from where she’d been attempting to read, the young woman swallowed thickly. No matter how she tried, she could quell the heat that seared through her veins, or slow her hammering heart. Quickly, she made her way back through the gardens, ducking back into the manor discreetly. After informing Annie that she would take her tea in the library, she fled there, closing the door behind her.

The Tate’s library and Lord Tate’s study was a lovely, lofty room filled with light from the garden. There had to be at least five thousand volumes packed neatly into the space, on shelves that stretched from the floor all the way to the ceiling. As it was high summer, there was no fire burning in the hearth, and Rose thanked the Lord that it was a cool retreat.

Exhaling a sigh of relief at having lost Michael for a moment, she made her way over to the nearest bookshelf, running her fingertips over the polished mahogany. It was clear that Annie visited every day. There wasn’t a single speck of dust on the books or the wood, and the windows gleamed with a new wash.

As the tension leeched from Rose’s body, she read over the titles, delighted to find a bevy of classics she’d read in her university days. There was Dickens, Tolstoy, Shakespeare, Darwin and a host of others, and she paused in her perusal when she found a title that had always been near and dear to her heart: A Midsummer Night’s Dream . With a small, pleased smile, she tipped the volume out with her fingertips to feel its weight in her hand. When she finally pulled the book down into her arms, a piece of paper slipped from the pages to flutter to the floor and the young woman inhaled sharply in alarm.

Setting the book aside, she reached down to retrieve the paper, intent on putting it back where it came from. When she turned the small, square object over, however, she paused. It was not, as she had surmised, a document. Instead, it was a small photograph depicting a sleeping baby. The black and white image melted her heart as she took in the swathe of bandages, tiny features, and thatch of dark hair atop the babe’s head. It was taken at an infant’s most vulnerable moment, and, though Rose had told her mother she wanted children no time soon, the longing in her gut reaffirmed that, someday, she’d like a baby to cradle in her arms.

When Rose’s gaze fell to the bottom of the photo, her eyes widened. Small, precise letters read: Anton Mikhail. There was no date and no year. With a small, fond smile, Rose ran her fingertips over the image before reaching for her book. Carefully, she replaced the photo between the back cover and the last pages before taking a seat before the empty hearth.

She attempted to read, but found herself wondering about the photo. Was it, perhaps, from one of Michael’s long-dead ancestors? A baby portrait of an uncle or perhaps even his father? The name, she contemplated, didn’t seem like a very English title. Anton sounded Slavic – most probably Russian or Czech. If that was the case, what was a photo of a Russian child doing in an English library?

“Having a bit of a read are we?”

At a sudden, low baritone, the young woman started, dropping the book into her lap as her head jerked up to see none other than Michael Tate standing in the doorway.

The roguish intruder was holding her tea tray, and Rose had a sneaking suspicion that he’d stolen it from Annie. Despite the fact that she knew it was dangerous to be in the same room as him, Rose couldn’t help but admire the man. He had, after all, become no less handsome in the time since their kitchen encounter. If anything, she was even more painfully aware of how attractive he was.

Almost dwarfing the door he walked through, today he wore a pair of tweed slacks and a dark blue shirt that hugged his tautly muscular figure. Over that, he wore a pair of suspenders that should have made him look entirely ridiculous, but, instead, Rose found herself with the opinion that he looked dashing – like something out of a fairy tale.

That said, he was a bit too rugged to be something out of a children’s book. Even with his hair combed perfectly into place and the scruff he wore on his strong chin tamed, he still looked like a warrior in prince’s clothing – a gentleman hiding something entirely more primal.

Something Rose would love to explore…But she’d be damned if she let herself commit such suicide. She still had an entire two months to get through before she would be home free to leave the country. She couldn’t jeopardize that. She wouldn’t .

“Good afternoon, my Lord.” Her response was appropriately stiff as she looked him over. In response, a small, knowing smile played about the edges of Michael’s mouth.

“My lady,” he bowed almost mockingly low, making her scowl deeply as he straightened. “Might I bring your tea?”

Now he was just teasing her, and Rose didn’t appreciate his antics at all. “Leave it there, by the door.”

If she thought he meant to obey her, she was sorely disappointed. Michael strode across the room to place the tea on the coffee table next to her. Almost immediately, the spicy, clean, masculine scent of him enveloped her, and every muscle in Rose’s body tightened as warmth sparked to life between her legs. “Annie made a glorious blackberry tart.” She watched as if transfixed as the man cut her a slice of the tart before handing her the small, delicate porcelain plate and dessert fork.

After a moment, she realized what she’d been doing and tried to protest, some of her iciness melting away. “Michael, you don’t really need to serve me tea-”

“We have a nice Earl Gray today, from south of London.” For so large a man, he poured tea rather effortlessly from a filigreed pot. “Cream and two sugars, is it?” Rose was on the cusp of correcting him before she realized he was exactly right. She arched a blonde brow.

“How did you know that?”

“One need merely pay attention, my lady.” After handing her the cup he’d prepared, Michael set out making his own tea. Rose realized there was no way to avoid him having his tea with her after he’d gone through all this trouble and merely sighed, waiting for him to join her. Once again, he surprised her by sitting, not across from her, but right beside her on the couch she already occupied.

Though there was plenty of room, he sat close enough to her that their thighs touched and Rose jumped almost as if she had been burned, scooting to the very edge of the sofa to take a sip of her tea as if nothing had happened. If Michael noticed, he said absolutely nothing, merely working on his own tea. For a long moment, the silence was almost companionable between them. Rose did her utmost to try and pretend she couldn’t feel the heat of the man – that she wasn’t tempted by him. Ultimately, that meant talking, and so she picked a random subject.

“How are your shifts at the hospital going?” It was easier to avoid him on the weekdays, she noticed, when he sometimes pulled a twelve-hour shift away from him. Today was Saturday, and so, she had a bit more difficulty.

Hence her current situation.

“Well enough. No terribly major surgeries since the one you saw, which I suppose is a good thing.” He sipped his tea like a proper English gentleman, even if his eyes never left her face. “How has mulling about the house been going?”

She flushed slightly at his directness. “Michael!”

“You still haven’t come for your shoes, you know.” He went on as if he hadn’t heard her. “Mother is going to come into my room one day and assume you left them there after a night of passion.”

“I most certainly did not! ” Rose returned indignantly, with no small amount of difficulty. The mere mention of the words “night of passion” made her thighs clench in longing and her panties uncomfortably moist. “You stole them. And I want them back.”

“Well,” Michael leaned back against the sofa casually, his eyes gleaming with perverse mirth, “you know where to find them.”

Rose set her half-full teacup back down on the table, drawing herself up to her full height to stand before him. She needed to assert herself or this man was going to walk all over her. Rose Lithgall had never, in her life, allowed anyone to take advantage of her, and she wasn’t going to start now. Even if the man in question plagued her every waking thought. “Michael Tate, you return my shoes to me this instant.”

The man had the gall to take his time sipping tea before he answered her, his smile faint. “Say please, my lady.”

“Oh! ” Rose threw up her hands in exasperation, turning with the intention of taking her leave from the room. She made it not one single step, however, before a strong arm hooked around her waist, drawing her backwards and into a very firm lap. Stiffening immediately, Rose turned to see Michael grinning at her.

“Calm down, Rose. Why not finish your tea?”

She scowled at him, shoving her blonde hair from her face. Indignation and arousal warred in her gut, and Rose had to resist the urge to squirm. “Because you’re acting like a brute. Release me at once!”

She inhaled sharply when Michael shifted, leaning forward to press his nose into the junction of her neck and shoulder. He inhaled at length before a long sigh escaped him. “You smell of summer and dreams.”

A very unladylike snort escaped the young woman. She couldn’t help it. It was the most ridiculous line she’d ever heard.  “And what do dreams smell of?”

Michael only tugged her closer, pressing his lips hotly against the base of her neck so she was forced to bite back a low moan. “My dreams smell of you, my lady.”

Goddamn him . If she had any wherewithal whatsoever, she would smack him and leave the room anyway. He had no right – absolutely none – to make her feel the way she did.  Instead of wanting to stomp away, Rose found herself with the sudden urge to arch back against him – to beg him to continue kissing his way southward along her spine until she was writhing, begging him for more.

“Please tell me,” she managed breathlessly, “That you don’t use that line on every woman you bring into your bed. It’s horrendous .”

In response, Michael merely chuckled lowly against her throat, making her shudder, before he nipped the sensitive skin there playfully. “Do not paint me a Casanova, my lady. I assure you, fewer women have visited my bed than you might think.”

Rose sighed, telling herself grudgingly that she would allow him this behavior once. Just once, and just because it felt so ridiculously lovely. “If you’re going to be chewing my neck, Michael, you can at least call me Rose. That is what we agreed, isn’t it?”

“Mm-hmm .” The young woman couldn’t help the soft sound of need that escape her as Michael nodded against her shoulder, his mouth still firmly pressed there. “My apologies,” He kissed the side of her neck, “Rose.”

She melted against him. What choice did she have? The man had her trapped now, and their tea was all but forgotten. After all the avoiding she’d done, now she was on Michael’s lap, and it wasn’t even half as bad as she’d imagined that it might be. That didn’t mean, however, that she was going to bend to his every whim. Rose had never been so easy, and she certainly wasn’t about to start now.

“So now that you have me in your clutches, Michael,” She managed, trying not to let his kisses drug her into complete insensibility, “what do you plan to do with me?”

“Well, first,” the brawny man replied, “I plan to give you back your shoes. I would really prefer not to explain that one to mother.” Rose found herself giggling. She couldn’t help it. This entire situation was ludicrous. “And after that’s done, I’d like to invite you out with me this evening.”

Rose turned slightly in his lap to look down at him, her heart stuttering in her chest at the sight of the desire evident in his eyes. “And where are we going?”

Michael smiled – a devastating gesture that warmed her to her toes. “That’s a surprise. Wear a nice dress.”

“Isn’t this dress nice?” She had always thought so. One of her nicest.

“It is…but now that I’ve had you on my lap in it, I’ll just be thinking of taking it off you all evening.” Rose rolled her eyes, pushing out of Michael’s embrace to stand before him. She was sure she looked a sight – hair mussed, neck quite possibly pockmarked with his attentions. But she was going to make sure he knew exactly where they stood.

“I am not sleeping with you, Michael Tate. Let me make that perfectly clear.”

He immediately held up large hands in surrender, his expression surprisingly innocent. “Of course. Understood.” Rose’s eyes narrowed as she peered down at him.

That was entirely too easy. The man had to have something up his sleeve. But, at that particular moment, she was a bit too worked up over him to investigate. Leaning over, she retrieved the book she’d meant to read from the end table before turning from him to finally flee the library. She didn’t stop until she was safely in her room with the door shut and bolted behind her.

Once that was done, Rose exhaled a shuddering breath, setting her book aside to collapse into the nearest available chair. She felt almost as if her legs were putty. What was he thinking , kissing her like that in the middle of the day when anyone could walk in and see? The man was entirely to brazen for his own good – and to her horror, Rose found that she might like him for it.

She couldn’t keep a small, indulgent smile from spreading across her face. For the first time since she’d arrived, she was excited about an outing with Michael. She could only wonder what he had in store for them.

**

Michael didn’t do this. Ever . He was, in fact, so unsure as to how to go about impressing Rose that he committed suicide and did the one thing he should have thought through far more thoroughly.

He called his sister.

Alice was, of course, simultaneously shocked and affronted.

“You like her? What the bloody bollocks, Mike? You’re playing right into mother’s hands!” As he did up his shirt in the mirror, Mike merely scowled in the direction of his phone’s speaker.

“I am not, Alice. I didn’t say that I was going to marry the woman. Simply that I find her attractive.”

“So you’re going to frig her and bid her adieu?” Alice’s reply was dry with sarcasm. “Charming. I’m proud of you, big brother.”

“Oh, stop carrying on, Alice. Are you going to help me or not?” That was really all he wanted to know. If she was going to insult him, he could have called Elias. The strain of Cat’s pregnancy had turned his friend into a monster. Elias was stressed out of his mind and always on the cusp of an outburst. Hence, Michael reaching out to his sister.

“What exactly do you need my help with?”

“Where should I take her? What should we do?”

Alice snorted. “Do you intend to end up in bed with her or not?”

Michael sighed. “That’s beside the point. Try to think like an adult. I know it’s hard for you.”

“Ha ha . You’re hilarious.” There was silence on the other line that Michael took as his sister contemplating.  “Take her to see a play. Dinner and a play is classy but doesn’t come on as too desperate.” Michael arched a brow in incredulity, even though he was well aware that his sister couldn’t see it.

“Are you calling me desperate?”

“You’re after a woman mother picked for you,” Alice quipped smartly. “Forgive me for assuming the obvious.”

Despite his sister’s loving flip, Michael did think that dinner and a play would be a good idea. He had never been one to want to flaunt his wealth, but he found that Rose brought out certain desires he’d never entertained before – and not just physical ones.

She fought him. Not physically, of course – delightful as that might have been. No, being with Rose was like being engaged in a battle of wits. She refused to admit directly that she was attracted to him. She wouldn’t try to seduce him and she defied all of his efforts to seduce her, the little minx. So he would have to resort to actually wooing her.

God forbid his mother ever discovered and tried even harder to drive them together. Thankfully, tonight she had gone to a meeting of her Lady’s club in London and wouldn’t be back until the following afternoon. He thought he had dressed well enough for their outing – in a dark shirt and slacks with a tailored vest – and hoped that Rose had taken his advice and changed her dress. Even the sight of her bare shoulders was enough to tempt him into a southern style salute, and that would hardly be appropriate.

He headed downstairs around seven, and was surprised to find her already waiting for him. The picture she painted in a deep gray sheath that matched the color of her eyes, her hair pulled away from her face to hang over her shoulders, was enough to make his mouth dry and his blood hot. Thankfully, he managed to keep from getting an erection in his tailored pants, but only just.

When he reached the foot of the steps, Rose gave him an obtrusive little twirl with a small, devilish smile. “Is this better?”

“I don’t know about better,” Taking her hand, Michael drew it to his lips to kiss gently. “But you look lovely.”

She flushed slightly, pulling her hand gently from his. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going now?”

Michael chuckled. “Perhaps if you’re good.” With that, he led her out to the waiting car. Though Rose wrinkled her nose at the sight of the Rolls, she said nothing, merely sliding in when he opened the door for her. The restaurant Michael had chosen was in the next town over and, during the drive, their conversation was pleasant. He did his best to swallow the burgeoning sexual desire that thrummed through him, wondering what on earth had gotten into him. Rose seemed to be a trigger for all his baser instincts. The sight of her, the scent of her…one taste had him rattling at the bars of his cage like a wild animal. She could be talking about the weather and he’d be picturing stripping every scrap of clothing from her body.

Thankfully, he managed to refrain from such antics in the back of his father’s Rolls Royce, and they arrived in the next village without incident. When Michael led her into Giselle’s , one of the premier fine dining establishments for one hundred kilometers, he himself was taken aback by the splendor of the place.

Michael had visited his fair share of upscale restaurants in London, but this one was extravagant to the ninth degree. The entire two-story affair was decorated with gold and cream wallpapers and extravagant candle-lit chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Most of the tables were occupied, but the atmosphere was that of muted dignity, with perfectly pressed linen tablecloths and elaborate centerpieces. It had cost him a neat three hundred pounds simple to secure a table, and while he tended to find places like this rather stuffy, he was willing to go the distance to impress Rose without hesitation.

The Maitre’d led them to a discrete table in the corner before presenting them with the wine list. He bowed with flourish before leaving them to their own devices, and Michael stared after him, wondering vaguely how much all his kowtowing earned him in a single night. Clearing his throat, he finally looked back to his lovely companion, who was gazing around the restaurant with an unreadable expression.

“Shall we have wine?” He inquired, extending the list to her. Rose’s gaze met his a moment before she took the list from his hand. When she opened the elegantly decorated cover, her eyes immediately widened.

“Good Lord, twelve hundred pounds for a bottle of oh-seven Riesling?” She snapped the menu shot before setting it aside. “I’d just as soon drink Perrier.”

Michael cracked an amused smile. “Eighteen pounds a bottle.”

Rose almost choked on the mint she’d popped in her mouth and Michael bit back his laughter. For an heiress, Rose certainly didn’t seem to approve of living the high life. If he didn’t know any better, he might describe her expression as one of sheer mortification. “Aren’t you used to high-class lunches, my lady?”

Rose made a face. “It’s possible to have class without signing over the rights to your first born child. This…this is slightly excessive.”

Under different circumstances, Michael might think she was merely being difficult, but the genuine affront on Rose’s face raised no small amount of curiosity in him. He’d spent his life being brought to places like this. His parents had always impressed upon him the importance of being seen in the right place, at the right time, and with the right people. As he’d grown older, he’d come to see what utter bollocks such pains actually were, but he tended to believe that gently bred women delighted in the attention paid to them.

Rose, it seemed, didn’t fit into that mold. She grimaced at being driven around in a Rolls Royce, and now she was clearly uncomfortable in a five-star restaurant. He arched a brow in inquiry. “Is there somewhere else you’d prefer?”

At his expression, Rose’s softened slightly. “I apologize, Michael. I didn’t mean to dismiss your choice. This place is beautiful…really it is. I just…I can’t justify spending so much money on a single meal.”

Michael chuckled, growing more intrigued with each passing minute. “But you aren’t paying for it. I am.”

Rose merely rolled her eyes with good humor. “I can’t justify so much money being spent on a meal period .”

Running a hand through his hair, he merely repeated his earlier question. “And is there somewhere you’d prefer to dine? A burger joint? Indian takeaway, perhaps.”

Rose merely smiled at his cheek. “Don’t you dare insult a good takeaway. They’re worth their weight in gold.” As she spoke, she rose from the table, leaving him to look up at her curiously. “I’ll be right back.”

Michael watched in awe as she strolled across the floor of the restaurant to find the Maitre’d once more. Leaning over, she whispered something in his ear that made the well-groomed man look at her as if she’d grown a third head. Thrusting his nose in the air, he answered her with visible reluctance. Rose took it all in stride, merely smiling sweetly at him in thanks before returning to the table.

When she reached his side, she touched Michael’s shoulder gently. “Come with me.”

He didn’t hesitate. What man would when a woman like Rose Lithgall demanded something of him? Without a word, Rose merely led him from the elegantly appointed restaurant and into the well-lit village streets, where a bevy of people were milling about, enjoying their Saturday night.

She was, Michael noted, rather more well suited to walking in heels sober. Despite the cobblestone streets she led him down, the woman didn’t wobble in the slightest. He allowed her to lead him away from the majority of the crowds and down a few backstreets until curiosity finally got the better of him. “Where on earth are we headed?”

Rose merely winked cheekily at him over her shoulder. “It’s a secret.”

Well, he certainly deserved that one.

Michael didn’t know what he expected. A smaller, more intimate restaurant, a pub, or something in between. Whatever the picture had been in his mind’s eye, it wasn’t the small, nondescript building that they came to a stop in front of. There was a line of people that trailed out the door, and upon closer inspection, many of them seemed to be shabbily clothed – some without shoes or belts.

Still, Michael followed Rose inside, where the interior was decorated not with chandeliers or candles, but with posters demonstrating how to keep warm and where to get regular medical check-ups. Completely flummoxed, he watched Rose march up to the front desk and beam at the woman in charge. “Hello. My name is Rose Lithgall, and this is my…friend,” she gestured to Michael and he chuckled at her choice of words, “Michael. We’ve come to help, if you need any.”

The plump woman behind the desk was all smiles. She wore a large apron over the front of her gingham dress, her gray streaked hair pulled back from her face to expose kind blue eyes. “Well, bless your hearts, my dears. We’re always grateful for all the help we can get. Of course, we’ll spare you a bit of dinner too, for your troubles, if you’ll just come this way.”

She turned to lead them down a long hall, which opened up to an immense kitchen. Here, the people coming in from outside lined up in droves to accept large trays of the food being prepared for them by the kitchen staff. Michael looked from the workers to Rose and then back again, trying to decide whether he was more shocked or impressed. “A working dinner, is it?”

Rose merely grinned at him as the manager of the kitchen handed her an apron. She seemed to have no reservations whatsoever about putting the stained garment on over her delicate silk dress. “Not afraid of a bit of work, are you, my Lord?”

He would hardly be cowed now. Besides, Michael was far from afraid. He found himself drawn into the chore Rose had brought him to perform. No one could have torn him away. “If it means I get to spend the evening in your company, of course not.” He accepted the apron the owner passed to him, sliding it over his head before tightening the belt around his waist.

Rose merely blushed in answer, before asking the kitchen manager for their instructions.

And so began one of the strangest and most wondrous nights of Michael’s life. He had to admit, while he’d worked in hospitals all over London and seen an array of soup kitchens and homeless shelters, he’d never actually been inside of one. This establishment seemed to be kitchen and shelter all in one, with dozens of hands to help run it.

While other citizens of the village were out shopping and spending their money at any number of expensive restaurants, Michael helped Rose to serve dozens who had no food, and found an odd swelling of pride in his chest as the night wore on.

The people who accepted the food they handed out were not, he noticed, what his family often believed them to be. Most of them were as tidy as they could afford to be, polite, and amazingly grateful for the service being provided to them. A few of their customers thanked Michael so profusely that he had no idea how to reply, other than it was his pleasure to serve them.

But Rose…she was another matter entirely. Here, she seemed more comfortable than he had seen her all summer. Even in the manor, enjoying the gardens, he had never seen her as at ease as she was talking to the cooks in the kitchen. And the way she interacted with the soup kitchen’s visitors was nothing short of astounding. She greeted people like they were her old friends, handing out food as she conversed with them and complimented their clothing and possessions. With children, she laughed and bantered until she drew smiles from them, and afforded them extra portions of everything with great gusto.

Most important of all, she listened. Everyone that came to the kitchen had their own story, and a few people were so enamored of Rose that theirs spilled from their lips unbidden. Michael listened to fathers that had lost their jobs, mothers who had been turned from their homes and children who didn’t know what it was like to get a single Christmas present. He heard tell of the elderly men who’d served in the armed forces denied their security money and women too proud to go home to their adult children and burden them. All in all, he didn’t think he’d ever encountered so many hearty, selfless people in his entire existence.

His and Rose’s world was one of high society, money and constant squabbling. Who had the best cars, the best houses – who had the best connections. While he’d known that all these struggles were a farce, exactly how ridiculous they were had never really been reinforced until that night.

Hours in the soup kitchen flew past, and by the time Melody, the owner, came to tell them they were closing up shop for the night, Michael was shocked to see that it was close to midnight. Still in their aprons, the accepted the bread, stew and apple pie Melody gave them and sat down to eat with the few patrons that remained.

Rose was glowing. She dug into her food with gusto and, for a good minute, Michael watched her, utterly taken with what he’d seen.

Ultimately, Rose realized that she was being stared at and straightened, obviously self-conscious. “What?” She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “Aren’t you hungry? It’s delicious.”

Michael merely shook his head slowly. “What kind of lady are you?”

“What on earth do you mean?” She replied, her brow furrowing in confusion.

“You don’t like to ride in showy cars. Fancy restaurants make you uncomfortable. You’re more comfortable in a shelter than you are in a manor and you can make people with nothing feel like they’re richer than kings. Honestly, Rose, I’ve never seen the like.”

Her cheeks pinkened lightly at his assessment and she cleared her throat, obviously embarrassed with the praise. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” She dug into her stew once more and Michael finally tried his. It was, as she had warned him, delicious, and he finished it all within minutes. He hadn’t realized how ravenously hungry he was until he started eating.

After Rose had thanked Melody – who in turn, thanked her so exuberantly that she had to pry her hands from the woman – they finally left the shelter. The streets had gone mostly quiet, and the summer night was illuminated by streetlights handing over the cobble stone roads. When Michael spoke, his tone was thoughtful.

“You know, when my mother told me that you had quite a few charitable causes, I assumed that meant that you liked to throw money at benefits. Host thousand dollar per plate dinners and send the money to ambiguous companies that might or might not make sure that it gets where it needs to go.”

Rose scowled up at him immediately. “You’re describing my mother. And the majority of modern British nobility. We have these titles which, let’s face it, amount to bollocks in the modern day and age. The only thing we could use them for is to help those who have less and what do we do instead? Seek more money and prestige.”

Michael laughed softly at her brutal assessment. “That’s a rather harsh way of putting it, but you’re not wrong. We are pompous. The image matters more than anything else. Why do you think our parents are so keen on us getting married?”

Rose shuddered. “Keen or not, my mother doesn’t control me. At the end of this summer, I’m-” In the middle of her sentence, the young woman seemed to realize something and her mouth clamped shut. She fell silence, her expression pensive.

Arching a brow, Michael tried to coax her into continuing. “You’re what?”

But Rose only shook her head. “It’s nothing. Never mind.” She shot him a smile that seemed forced. “Rest assured that I’m not after your hand in marriage, Lord Tate. We’re entirely incompatible.”

Now that was bloody horseshit. Michael didn’t give one whit about marriage, but there could be no denying the chemistry between him and their summer guest. The memory of their night in the kitchen, or even of earlier that afternoon in the library, was enough to prove that.

“How are we incompatible?” He demanded, stopping in the center of the deserted street to turn to her.

Rose merely looked up at him with a small, amused smile. “You can’t be serious, Michael. We’re entirely different people.”

“Are we?” Michael returned succinctly. “Both bullied by our parents into a summer of doing something we’d rather not. Both entrapped by upper society’s rules and trying to break out. Both…amazingly beautiful people with amazingly sensual proclivities.”

Rose burst into laughter, shaking her head at his effervescent statement. “You, Lord Tate, are merely trying to get me to like you?”

“Nonsense.” He himself was grinning now. “You already like me. The deed is done.”

“Oh?” Rose arched a brow as she finally regained her composure. “And how do you know that? I could hate your guts. Be secretly plotting to murder you in your sleep.” When he reached out to grasp her waist, pulling her flush against him in a smooth motion, the young woman inhaled sharply. Eyes that had been filled with mirth suddenly blazed with heat.

“Your body betrays you, Rose.” Michael whispered huskily, reaching down to cup her delicate, pale chin. “Every time I’m near you, you go soft and pliant…and it’s all you can do not to beg me to touch you.”

Rose opened her mouth to deny the claim, but no words came out. Instead, Michael deliberately traced the line of her lips with his thumb, committing every feature to memory. There was a small freckle on the corner of her mouth, and her lower lip was slightly fuller than its twin. Those lips had plagued him ever since he’d first tasted them, and now, he needed to taste them anew. “If you tell me not to kiss you, I won’t,” he murmured solemnly. “Tell me not to touch you, and I’ll let you go.” Hi hand threaded through the spun corn silk of her hair as his gaze roamed her face. Rather than embarrassment, her cheeks were now flushed with desire.

Desire for him.

“But if you don’t stop me know,” he warned her, his voice barely above a growl, “You won’t leave my bed tonight. No matter how much you beg for mercy. I’ll have you until you’re spent with your own pleasure, and then I’ll have you some more. Is that understood?”

The way her eyes dilated in raw want almost brought him to his knees. He thought she’d speak then – to tell him no or what a complete and utter cad he was. But instead, Rose merely stood on her toes to press her mouth to his, and Michael lost himself in her.

It seemed like an eternity since he’d kissed her last. He tasted the spice of beef stew her own underlying sweetness, groaning as he tugged her tightly against him. When his already jutting erection made contact with the softness of her belly, an unfettered moan escaped her, and Michael fought instincts that demanded that he drag her into the nearest alley and have his way with her against the first brick wall he could find.

He was, after all, a gentleman. If he was going to have his way with Rose Lithgall, it would be in the comfort of his own bed.

That was, if he could bring himself to stop kissing her.

It was no small feat. The way she clung to him, almost as if she was trying to fuse her body with his, intoxicated him. His hands slid from the waist to the small of her back and finally to cup the lush round of her behind. Her dress was so thin that he could feel the outline of the lace underwear she wore beneath, and a groan of longing escaped him. He needed her naked, and he needed it as soon as possible.

At that moment, the loud blaring of a car horn cut into their intimacy. Rose jumped, pulling back slightly, and Michael’s head jerked up as he turned his irate gaze directly to their left.

There was a car.

It was late, and so they had almost forgotten that they were in the middle of the street – but the driver of this particular vehicle hadn’t. He was laying on the horn, gazing at them with a smile that was entirely too smug for his own good.

With a mumbled curse, Michael pulled Rose out of the way and once the car had rolled past, he couldn’t help the low chuckle that rumbled from his chest. “Well, I’m sure he’ll have a story to tell his wife.”

Rose’s pale cheeks were flushed, her mouth swollen from his kisses, and Michael wanted nothing more than to kiss her again. The young woman took an unsteady breath before finally speaking. “You know, I swore I wouldn’t sleep with you.” Her tone was so uncertain that she sounded as if she was trying to convince herself just as much as she was him.

Gently, Michael cupped her face in his hands, drawing her gaze upward until he could meet her eye once more. “Who said anything about sleeping?”

Rose’s soft, feminine sound of want was all the confirmation he needed. In a trice, Michael was leading her back to the main streets, where the Rolls Royce lie dutifully in wait for them. It took less than a minute to see Rose safely inside before he joined her, and the moment he did, the young woman was pressed against his side, her gaze heated.

Michael had no idea how he was going to survive the ride home. That enticement in Rose’s lovely eyes might very well incinerate him.

**

She had lost it completely. That was all Rose could think as she and Michael entered the dark foyer of the Tate Manor. All the staff was long asleep and the house was quiet.

She was still on fire from the heated kiss Michael had planted on her in the middle of the road, and when he scooped her up in his arms, she didn’t protest.

He was every bit as strong as she had imagined, carrying her up the stairs effortlessly. Instead, of making his way down the entirety of the hall to her room, however, he stopped before his own door, edging it open with his thigh.

Rose only had a moment to take in the decorations. Michael’s room was decidedly one of the most masculine in the house, done in shades of green and gray. He boasted the best view of the gardens and a variety of paintings done in strong, aggressive strokes. Before she could assess much more, however, the young woman found herself being lain on the immense expanse of his bed.

Michael looked down at her, his dark eyes aflame. “You have no idea what I want to do to you, Rose.”

Swallowing thickly, she sat up, running her hand along the hard length of his thigh until she reached the erection tenting the front of his pants. “I know you want to fuck me, don’t you?” The word sounded so foreign, so completely filthy from her lips…at the same time that it empowered her beyond reckoning.

A hiss of approval emanated from Michael as his fingers tangled in her blonde hair. “You’ve a bloody dirty mouth for a lady.” With that, his mouth crashed down atop hers.

As he bore her down against the coverlet, Rose moaned against his mouth. He was like no other man she’d been with before. There was no fumbling, no permission and no tentative caress. Michael knew exactly what he wanted, and he took it from her.

But he gave as much as he took.

His mouth blazed a trail over her jaw and down her throat as he yanked at the zipper of her dress, all but ripping it from its tracks. As he bit at the line of her throat, she shuddered, wiggling out of the top half of her clothing so her breasts were clad in their lacy black lingerie. The sight was enough to make Michael pause in his ministrations as his gaze dropped to her bare torso.

With a groan, he wrapped his arms around her, lifting her higher up on the bed so she gasped. The motion had the effect of bringing his head in line with the swell of her breasts and Rose shuddered delicately as the heat of his breath penetrated the lace material. “Gorgeous …” He murmured against her collarbone, nipping and kissing his way downward towards her cleavage. “Fucking decadent…”

He was describing her as if she were a particularly lovely trifle, and, at the idea of being devoured by him, Rose whimpered softly. Her hand sifted through his auburn waves as he pressed her thighs apart, situating himself between them. The position hiked her dress up about her waist, allowing her to feel the scalding heat of his erection against the aching warmth between her legs. With a ragged moan, Rose arched against him, sensation coursing through her. She needed him inside her more than she needed her next breath, and it was all she could do to keep from begging that he sate her.

While she was preoccupied with rubbing herself wantonly against Michael’s impressive erection, however, the man was busy peeling down the nearly insubstantial cups of her bra. The moment her pale breasts were exposed to him, he lowered his head to take a rose-colored nipple between his lips.

A soft cry escaped Rose as her head fell back against the pillow. Michael lapped and sucked at the peak of her breast, making obscene sounds that only seemed to further fan the flames of her desire. Her legs all but fell open as she clutched at him desperately, the pressure between her legs building to an almost unbearable level. But Michael, however, made no move to continue further southward. Instead, he merely drew on her nipple with his teeth until pain and pleasure combined to draw a trembling moan from her.

“Michael…Michael please …” She had never begged a man for anything in her life, but she was begging him now. “Please .”

He raised his head to fix her with an indulgent smile. “Please ‘what’, my Lady?”

If she had been in her right mind, she might have slapped him for bringing titles into this. Instead, Rose merely rubbed herself against him like a cat in heat, her tone low and breathless. “Touch me .”

“Touch you where?” He demanded cruelly, his mouth hovering mere millimeters above her own. “Tell me.”

Rose merely caught his hand with one of her own, dragging southward until it rested against the heat at the crux of her legs. “Here . Touch me here.”

Michael chuckled lowly, pressing his mouth to hers in a lazy, lingering kiss that set her nerve endings aflame. “And what would you like me to do there , Rose? Do be specific.”

Rose groaned, thrashing against him. The man would choose now to be completely and totally insufferable. “You ass …” She cursed him lowly in frustration. “Bloody cad- ” Any further insults that might have risen to her lips were cut off when Michael’s fingers slid deftly beneath the hem of her panties and over her slick lower lips. All at once, the only sound Rose was coherent enough to make was a soft groan.

“Is this what you wanted?” Michael whispered against her breast, his tongue flicking against her nipple, “My filthy little Duchess?”

Given her current state, Rose could hardly argue with him. She was writhing beneath the man as he ran his fingers torturously over the seam of her. So, instead, she merely nodded, whimpering as Michael’s thumb found the sensitive bead between her lower lips. Without pretense, two fingers plunged into her and she cried out as he worked them deep among her clenching inner muscles. As he rubbed at her insides, his thumb stimulated her clit expertly and his mouth worked at her over-sensitized nipple.

It was too much for Rose to take. She squirmed, bucked and gasped as pleasure streaked through her on increasingly powerful waves. Every stroke of Michael’s fingers inside her pressed her closer and closer to a threatening precipice. Rose moaned, she gasped, she pleaded – and when Michael nipped at the tip of her breast, crooking his fingers against the back of her pelvis in an earth-shattering come-hither motion, Rose flew apart.

She came with a loud cry, clinging to Michael as her body quivered in delectation. Her toes curled, her lips parted, and for a brief moment, it was almost as if she’d ceased to exist. Rose had never climaxed so hard in her life, and when she came down from her high, she felt weak – as if she had just finished a marathon.

Michael was kissing her. Her neck, her breasts, her belly – everywhere he could reach, and little aftershocks of pleasure fluttered through her. Slowly, Rose came back down to earth to the sight of the man gazing down at her almost fondly, a small smile playing about his lips. “Asleep already?”

Rose scowled at him –or, at least, as much of a scowl as she could manage, coming down from the most powerful climax in her twenty-seven years. “Do you ever shut up?” She finally managed, drawing herself up onto her elbows.

Michael smirked. “Quite the question coming from a woman fresh off a round of screaming.”

Rose blushed scarlet. “I was not screaming.” In fact, she had no idea what sounds she’d uttered. She had been so taken with her own pleasure that she might have sung God Save the Queen without noticing.

“No?” The imposing man undid his vest, tossing it on the floor before his shirt fell to the same fate. For the first time, his naked chest was bared to her, and Rose found herself absolutely speechless. She didn’t think she’d ever seen such a gorgeous male specimen in her life. Lord Michael Tate could have modeled for Michelangelo or Da Vinci – his fine was broad, well-formed, and absolutely mouthwatering.

“That…” She swallowed thickly, her expression ravenous, “is not a body built from water polo and horse racing.”

Michael merely grinned, his hands on the button of his trousers. “Indeed it isn’t. Try Krav Maga.”

“Krav what? Rose’s answer was breathless as the man leaned over her, once more situating himself between her legs. This time, however, the only barrier between them was their underthings. She could feel the outline of his member, thick, hard and enormous against her.

And she craved it. “I’ll tell you all about it later.” Michael promised huskily, as his hand hooked beneath the waistband of her underwear to tug them downward.

Rose was embarrassingly wet. She could feel the silken sheets sliding against the drenched folds between her legs. She closed her eyes tightly in an attempt to temper her embarrassment, but they flew open at the feel of Michael’s erection, heated silk over steel, sliding over her lower lips. The moment her eyes met his, the man started to sink into her – inch by glorious inch.

Rose quickly found that everything about Michael Tate was in proportion. The man was immense, stretching her deliciously, and her fingernails curled into his shoulders tight enough to bruise as he filled her to the point of gasping, quivering ecstasy.  “Oh, bloody fuck …” The words escaped her as she shifted, wrapping her legs around him almost possessively.

Michael merely growled in reply, withdrawing slightly before plunging in again so a sharp cry escaped her. “Tight .” He grunted. “So fucking tight…”

Rose would have been disappointed if he’d been gentle with her. To be fair, Michael wasn’t brutal, but there was no gentility in the way he pinned her beneath him, each thrust pressing her flat against the mattress. Rose clawed at the man, gasping for succor as each jerk of his hips drove her further and further from sanity. He wasn’t scared of hurting her – wasn’t worried about her station or position. He was raw and unfettered and ever delicious slide of his body against hers was nirvana.

She strained and sweater, her nails leaving red furrows over his shoulders as he fucked her absolutely breathless. He fucked her until only his mouth could muffle the animalistic sounds of pleasure he drew from her and Rose was convinced that she might go mad with pleasure.

But there was no madness.

Instead, Michael forced her to the edge of another mind-blowing orgasm – closer and closer until her own hungry passion consumed her and she came again, this time with his name on her lips.

As Rose’s inner muscles seized around his invasion, Michael groaned, low and long, pumping his hips against her a few final, frantic times before she felt the hot spread of his seed inside her. The young woman shuddered, clutching him all the tighter as she reveled in the sensation – one she had afforded to no other man.

For moments after, neither of them spoke. They were too busy catching their breath. It wasn’t until Michael finally rolled from her, sitting at the edge of the bed, that she finally managed to form words. “You, my Lord, are an absolute beast .” Rose wasn’t sure if she meant the words as an insult or the ultimate compliment, but lucky for her Michael merely smiled at her before rising from the bed to pad towards the bathroom.

Turning onto her side, the young woman stretched leisurely. She expected to feel sore – used and abused. Instead, she merely basked in the warmth of post-orgasmic bliss, every muscle in her body completely relaxed. She had almost dozed off by the time Michael returned, and her eyes cracked open at the sensation of him running a warm, damp cloth over her stomach and thighs. A lazy smiled touched her lips. “Oh, now you want to play the gentleman?”

Michael chuckled lowly. “Pardon me, Lady Lithgall, but a gentleman always gives a lady her pleasure first. I’ve I’m not mistaken, you found yours. Twice.”

Rose was too tired to be embarrassed. She let Michael continue to wash her, indulging in the surprisingly intimate gesture. When he slid into bed again moments later, she frowned sleepily. “I’m not supposed to be sleeping with you.”

“Shh. ” Michael shushed her, bringing her into the cradle of his arms. “You’re not sleeping. You’re napping. I won’t let you sleep for long.”

Rose laughed softly. “Beast .”

Her new lover pressed a kiss under her jaw. “Now who won’t shut up?”

She would get him, Rose promised herself. When she woke, he would get his comeuppance. But, for now, she would nap. Just a short one. Either it had been so long since she’d been with a man that she’d forgotten how exactly how exhausting it was, or she had never been this exhausted. For the moment, she decided it didn’t matter, and allowed herself to relax into Michael’s embrace.

Michael, she decided, wasn’t the best name for this man. This man, who was just as much animal as he was gentleman. Just as contradictory as he was obscenity.  No, he sounded much more like an Anton to her.

With no idea where the thought had come from, Rose drifted off on a haze of sated satisfaction, a genuine smile curving her kiss-swollen lips.

Chapter 4: Saving Lives

 

When Rose opened her eyes, she let out a low sound of discomfort. It was bright – far brighter than it was when she usually woke, and as she slowly came awake, she realized that her surroundings were unfamiliar.

Immediately, her eyes widened and Rose attempted to rise from bed, only to be prevented doing so by the heavy weight of an arm draped across her waist.

The previous night flooded back in a rush.

Rose’s entire body flushed deeply as she remembered her date with Michael – the way he’d followed her without hesitation to a soup kitchen and uttered not one complaint when she donned an apron and proceeded to do what she did best. For Rose, putting in time at such places came second nature – but she couldn’t see it being to terribly huge of a stretch for Michael either. He was a natural, smiling and getting on with the people who came for what might be their only hot meal of the day. He treated them with respect instead of disdain, and considering that he’d never been placed in such a position before, he surprised Rose with the grace with which he accepted his evening.

He almost seemed to enjoy himself.

But regardless of what had happened at the soup kitchen, there was no denying that they had both enjoyed themselves afterward .

She was in Michael’s room now, looking over the decidedly masculine interior, naked as the day she was born- save for the silken whisper of Michael’s sheets over her skin. Rose thought she should feel ashamed for her wanton behavior the previous evening. While she was no stranger to intimate encounters, what she shared with Michael the previous night had been particularly…primal. When the man told her he wouldn’t let her sleep, he’d meant it. Less than an hour after she’d dozed off, he’d woken her with his mouth, his hands, and his eager erection – and she had been more than happy to oblige.

Rose had, in fact, obliged the man for most of the night. In fact, they might have only fallen asleep a few scant hours ago. Carefully, the young woman shifted as best she could so that she was facing the man with whom she’d spent the night. If she expected to feel such shame that she bolted from the bed, Rose was entirely shocked when another emotion immediately rose to the forefront.

In the early morning light streaming in through the windows, Lord Michael Tate was quite the sight. The sheets draped over him just barely covered his modesty, which left the majority of his scrumptious body on display for her viewing pleasure. He was fabulously muscled in a way that she’d never before seen in an English Nobleman. Of course, Rose had never really stumbled onto a man of Michael’s size before, period, but the fact that he was English really boggled the mind. Long legs with strong calves and thighs, glorious buttocks that still carried faint red tracks from where she’d gripped it hours earlier. An impossibly broad back with muscular shoulders and that shockingly red hair mussed in sleep. Rose was almost overcome by the desire to reach over and draw her fingers along the stubble on his jaw – to make up for some of the tenderness the previous night had lacked.

But she quickly reminded herself that she didn’t need tenderness. She wasn’t planning on keeping Michael around for long enough to want sweetness from him. All she had to do was weather the summer and then she would be able to get on with her life – and so would he. They were both consenting adults, and they both knew what this meant the moment they agreed to sleep together.

Just a simple summer dalliance born of convenience.

Although…Rose wouldn’t lie to herself. Under different circumstances, it might be very easy to fall for a man like Michael. On the outside, he was what her parents wanted for her. A man with a title who came from an old family. Someone she could flaunt at her elbow both for his wealth and for his good looks. On the inside, there was something more to him – something that had driven him to be a doctor when he certainly didn’t need the money. Something that made him follow her from a high profile restaurant and into a soup kitchen. It was a shame she wouldn’t have the opportunity to investigate that something further.

With a sigh, Rose scanned the room once more, wondering how the hell she was going to get away from Michael without waking him. She would have to do it while he slept. There was no other option. If Michael woke, Rose suspected she’d once more fall victim to his ravenous hunger, and she couldn’t afford to be so completely overcome so soon after their first encounter. She would need to be prepared. Next time she would have the upper hand…

“You look terribly serious for having just woken up.”

Inhaling sharply, Rose gazed down to see Michael staring up at her. How long had he been awake? Had he seen her watching him?

At her expression, the giant merely smiled knowingly. “What’s upset you, Rose? Do tell. I’ll do my best to drive it from your mind.”

Before she could protest, the man’s mouth was on hers and Rose found herself forgetting that this was the man she was supposed to be fleeing. How on earth could she want to distance herself from something that felt so good? Michael’s chest pressed against her breasts and her nipples immediately perked as he bore her back down against the mattress. Though she knew full well she should have shoved him from her, instead, Rose merely wrapped her arms around his neck as her tongue tangled eagerly with his.

She had never experienced this – exactly what this man could do to her with a simple touch. Rose had never been so drawn to a single person that they could melt her with a look, but it didn’t take much more from Michael. He effortlessly turned her rational brain to mush – and he was about to give her a repeat of the previous night’s performance in spectacular fashion.

At least until a low buzzing noise punctuated the rising passion between them.

It took Rose a full thirty seconds before she finally tore her mouth from Michaels, and even then, the man was relentless. His lips dropped to her throat, biting and sucking in ways that made her lightheaded. “Michael,” she managed breathlessly, “Michael, what’s that?”

“Don’t care,” he murmured against her collarbone. His tongue dipped into the hollow there and Rose squirmed, trying desperately to retain her sanity.

“Michael, please . What is that sound?” With a low sound of frustration, the man raised his head to gaze around the room reluctantly. When the buzzing came again, the source was clear. Rose’s bag was lying on the floor halfway across the room, and from inside, her phone was ringing. She gave Michael a pointed look that she hoped would cow him, but instead, the man simply sighed, moving off of her with supreme reluctance.

Rose snatched the sheet from the bed, wrapping it around herself before she rushed over to her bag. The action, of course, left Michael as bare as a newborn babe – not that he seemed to care too much. He merely folded his arms behind his head, watching with half-lidded eyes as Rose answered her phone.

“Hello?”

The voice that an answered her came in a rush of French, surprising the young woman. “Hello , Miss Rose? Are you there, Miss Rose?”

It was a man, that was for certain – but Rose couldn’t remember giving any Frenchmen her number recently. “Yes, this is Rose.”

“Miss Rose, my name is Alain Mabele. I am father to Elisee. You remember my daughter?”

Rose’s hand flew to her mouth in surprise. Remember? How on earth could she forget? Spending time with Elisee had been one of the high point of the last year for her. Once she had gotten the girl to warm to her, and to Britain, it had been hard to see her leave. Both she and Elisee shed tears as she saw the little girl onto a plane back to the Congo.

“Mr. Mabele!” She quickly switched to French. “I do remember Elisee. Your daughter was delightful to have in Britain! Is she doing alright?”

The man’s next words sent Rose’s heart plunging into her stomach. “That is why I call, Miss Rose. I find your telephone number in one of my daughter’s pockets. Elisee is not well at all. She is sick. Our whole village is sick.”

Rose’s finger tightened on the phone, her eyes widening at the news. The whole village was sick? What on earth had happened? The plane that Elisee had been on was packed with both medical supplies and food for her village – as well as valuable funds that were to be distributed to certain of the village’s elders.

“Mr. Mabele, is there no doctor? What of the medical supplies that were sent with your daughter?”

A noise that sounded terribly like a choked sob came from the other end of the line and Rose’s stomach lurched. “They come , Miss Rose. They come and take our supplies. There is no medicine for my daughter or the other children. No doctors can get through. I call you because I have no other choice. I know you don’t know me, but I beg you to help me save Elisee.”

Rose shook her head slowly, horrified. Even though Mr. Mabele didn’t specify exactly who they were, she knew of the many tribes and their conflicts in the Congo region. It was more than likely that an aggressive militia from a neighboring tribe had stolen from the Mabeles and those in their village. Which meant that when sickness started, it ran rampant. And without a doctor, things couldn’t possibly end well.

“Mr. Mabele, I’ll do everything in my power to help you and your daughter. Is this a number at which I can reach you?”

She couldn’t remember the last time her heart beat too rapidly. Imagining the sweet, shy Elisee struggling for life terrified her – just as much as the notion that everything she had sent with the girl had been stolen. This was a situation that happened all too often in the Congo. It wasn’t talked about at fancy benefits. After all the money was raised and everything was said and done, what little did actually reach the Congo often became mired in the turmoil that surrounded certain regions. Despite the best efforts of Aid Groups, all too often, help came entirely too late.

Which was why Rose had slipped Elisee her personal cell phone number. At the time, she had only thought to comfort the girl. She hadn’t anticipated that the number might be used – but just in case…just in case…

And now her worst fears were coming to fruition.

“This is my home telephone, Miss Rose. You may call me here.”

“Alright, Mr. Mabele. Hang on just a few days. I’m on my way.”

“ Thank you .” Rose couldn’t recall the last time she’d heard such genuine gratitude in someone’s voice. “Thank you, Miss Rose! ”

When she finally hung up the phone, Rose was visibly shaken. Elisee and her village were in danger, and attempts to get help from inside their country had proven unsuccessful. There was really only one thing she could do – but she had no idea if it would actually be possible.  Regulations for going in and out of the Congo – particularly conflict-affected areas – were harsh. The one time she had visited the country to perform aid work before, processing her visa had taken months.

“I…I need to go.”

At her low proclamation, Michael only arched a brow in inquiry. “Go back to your room?”

He looked so unbelievably scrumptious that, for a moment, she almost forgot her alarm and launched herself back towards the bed. Almost . “I need to leave the country.”

That clearly got his attention. Sitting up, Michael gazed over at her, his expression still veritably mild, considering what she’d just told him. “The last time I checked, it took several months to get a visa and travel clearance to enter the Democratic Republic of Congo.”

Rose’s eyes widened in shock. Had he… how on earth had he… “We’re British nobility , Rose,” The immense man jabbed in a dry tone. “I’m a little insulted that you don’t think I speak French.”

“How on earth did you know it was the Congo?” She was still completely flummoxed. That the man could speak French explained precisely nothing at all.

Rising from bed, Michael strutted across the room to the closet to disappear inside, leaving Rose to stare after him. When he emerged, he wore a pair of slacks and a polo shirt that had to have been tailored to fit his over-large frame. “Mabele is a Congolese last name.” He did up his belt methodically before straightening his collar. “One of my medical lecturers was from The Congo. He told us that where he came from was one of the driving factors that made him want to become a Doctor.”

Rose just stared at him, struggling to find words.  “He also told us how difficult it was for aid workers to get in, even under the direst of circumstances. So, of course, my question to you is: Why do you want to go there?”

For a moment, Rose’s temper threatened. Who on earth was he to demand to know her motivations? She was her own person, and her agenda was specifically that – her own . But before she could allow herself to snap at the man, Rose took a calming breath.

Why shouldn’t she tell him? If anything, it might get him to let her go sooner. Rose had no doubt that her parents would be furious once they found out what she’d done – but she could only hope to get out of the country before they caught on.

“There’s a girl there…a family. I did a Benefit event for her village a few months ago and we sent an entire cargo hold of supplies and medicine back with her. The man who just called me was her father. He says there’s an epidemic in their village and everything that might have helped has been stolen.” Straightening her spine, the young woman stared Michael straight in the eye. “I have to do something.”

“Right.” Rose blinked when the man didn’t even question her, instead, going back to his closet to retrieve a leather travel bag and toss it onto the bed. When he began packing things into it, Rose’s brows shot up to her hairline.

“What exactly are you doing?”

Michael barely spared her a glance. “You’ll need a doctor, won’t you? I heard the word epidemic.”

Rose opened and shut her mouth in a very good imitation of a koi fish, rendered speechless for the second time since she’d woken barely half an hour ago. “Apart from that, I’m sure you’ll need an in for travel clearance. I’m still on very good terms with Doctor Mabele. I’m sure he can help us.”

“Us ?” The word finally burst from Rose, halfway between incredulous and irate. “Who the bloody hell said you were going?” The demand was completely ladylike, but Rose couldn’t help her shock. She told the man she wanted to head to one of the most war-torn regions in the world and his first impulse was to want to tag along?

“I dare say, my dear Rose,” Michael winked at her, “That last night has rather stripped you of your refinement.” The young woman’s entire body flushed scarlet at Michael’s insinuation, but before she could offer a rebuttal, he continued. “I’m coming because I can expedite your visa process. And because the quicker a doctor can see those people, the better. Wouldn’t you agree?”

She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to kiss or to kill the infuriating man. Somehow, Rose refrained from doing either, instead merely watching the man continue to pack until his bag was almost half full. It was when she saw him toss his passport atop the contents that she snapped out of her haze and came back to reality.

They were going to the Congo. She hadn’t the slightest rebuttal for anything Michael had to say – and if he could get her where she wanted to go more quickly, then there was no need to argue. For once, she would have to put her pride aside for the greater good.

“…Thank you, Michael.” Though Rose often found herself considering her words multiple times before she actually spoke to him, this time, her gratitude came effortlessly.  After all, this wasn’t about her. Despite what had happened between them the previous night, what was happening now was about those who needed her – and if Michael could help her get to them, so be it.

**

Even with Michael’s considerable connections, it took a good three days before they were able to get anywhere. Of course, when he’d first suggested to Rose that he could get them to the Congo, he had only been half sure. He had acted on sheer impulse – which was totally and completely unlike him.

“You’re going where ?” Mike winced as Elias all but bellowed in his ear. The man was in the midst of a crowded airport terminal with activity humming all around him and, somehow, Elias could still shout loud enough to deafen him. “Why ?”

“I’ve got nothing else to do all summer,” Michael returned mildly. “Got a colleague to cover my shifts and the hospital, and an opportunity to get out from under the Countess’ prying eyes.”

“So you’re going to a conflict torn region in Africa?” Elias returned incredulously. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you.”

Michael winced. Alright, so he wasn’t being one hundred percent honest. It was true enough that he wanted to get away from his mother’s prying eyes, and that he’d spent enough summers in his family home to bore him to tears. But he wasn’t going to the Congo just to get away from England.

If it weren’t for the company, he certainly wouldn’t have volunteered for this trip and all its complications himself. For starters, getting the visas in and of themselves had been a nightmare. Though Doctor Mabele was a head researcher at one of the most prestigious universities in London, even he had to jump through hoops to help them. There was a full forty-eight hours of negotiation with the Congolese ambassador, and then with a leading member of parliament, who insisted that it was incredibly dangerous for British citizens to head into the particular region they planned to go. However, when Mabele offered up some of his own connections in his home country for protection, they were granted month-long visas with extreme reluctance.

The look on Rose’s face had been worth every aggravating phone call. The moment Michael told her they were going, she had lit up like a Christmas tree. He might have been imagining it, but he thought he’d seen moisture in her eyes.

They were two wrapped up in whirlwind travel preparations to celebrate properly, in his opinion, but Michael still had plenty of time to wonder what, exactly, he was getting himself into. Serving food to the homeless was one thing, but jetting halfway across the world into a very dangerous situation to help people in God knew what state of health was quite another. It was a decision he admitted he should have thought through before making any promises.

But now that they were in the airport, mere hours away from their journey, Michael had no regrets. There was a certain amount of pride to be had in the ability to help those he knew needed him most. Certainly, people often lauded him for being one of the best doctors in the UK, but where he was going, no one knew him by reputation. They would judge him on the good he did – and that was perfectly fine with him.

“Regardless of whether you believe me or not,” he spoke to Elias firmly, “I called you to tell you I’ll be gone for a few weeks, so you’re going to have to hold down the fort with your wife.”

Elias cursed fragrantly as Michael swallowed his amusement. “Mike, she’s immense. Like a bloody avenging angel. One minute she’s smiling and laughing and the next she’s out for my blood. Bloody hormones .”

This time, Michael couldn’t resist a low chuckle. “That’s the name of the game. Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon. Then you’ll just have a bouncing baby boy to deal with.”

“…I hope you’re not still trying to be funny, Mike. We both know how perfectly awful you are at it.”

Before Michael could deliver a retort, however, he was interrupted. Rose emerged from where she’d been off looking for coffees. At the irate expression on her face, Michael frowned. “Elias, let me call you back.”

“Call me back ? You’re going to Africa!”

“Ten minutes.” With that, Michael hang up. He and Elias had been through enough together that he knew his friend would understand. He highly doubted that Cat would go for the architect’s throat in the next ten minutes. “Rose?” Stepping away from the wall he’d been leaning against, Michael addressed the visibly distraught woman before him. “What’s going on?”

She thrust a cup of coffee in his direction as she answered. “Our flight’s been cancelled. All the flights to the Congo for the next week have been cancelled.”

Bloody hell. “When’s the next scheduled flight?”

Rose’s nose crinkled in displeasure, her brow wrinkling. “Two weeks from tomorrow.”

Well, that would never do. Michael had a hard enough time putting his mother off as it is. He’d managed to convince her he was going to visit Elias, and that Rose was off to see a friend. That story wouldn’t hold up very well if they remained in London for much longer.

“Well, that certainly won’t do at all.” Taking his coffee, Michael sipped carefully. It was a bit too bitter for his taste – he’d always preferred tea – but he hadn’t slept much in the past two days. Now, it seemed he was destined to stay awake for a little while longer. “I’ll have to make some calls.”

Rose’s eyes widened slightly. “What sort of calls?”

Michael’s lips quirked upwards at her reaction. While he would admit that he had pushed so hard to get their travel visas because it was evident how consumed Rose was by the fate of this village, it gave him no small satisfaction that she was impressed by his actions. If he could pull a few more strings to make her happy, he certainly wouldn’t mind. “Have your coffee and relax for a while, Rose. You must be tired.”

A fire immediately lit in the young woman’s gaze. “Relax? How on earth can I relax!? You might see this as some type of vacation, Michael, but there are people that need me-”

“Rose .” Michael’s interjection was soft, but firm, visibly startling her. She was, he realized, very close to panic. He should have known from the look on her face when Elisee’s father first called that she had an attachment to the girl and that nothing would stop her from getting to Africa. Even if he hadn’t had any connections, a woman like Rose would have found a way. She was worked up to the point of desperation – and she was exhausted. Anyone with eyes could see that. “Listen to me, Rose.” Taking her free hand, Michael folded his fingers around it firmly. When she tried to jerk away, he held her firmly. “I’ll handle this, but I need you to calm down. I need you to rest . Everything will be alright. Trust me. Haven’t I already gotten you this far?”

For a long moment, Rose merely stared at him. Around them, the airport bustled with activity – people rushing to catch their flights, shops selling snacks and meals, loudspeakers calling for lost passengers. But Michael heard none of it. His gaze was fixed on the woman before him. She was such a volatile, headstrong thing…like no woman he’d ever encountered before.

That had to be why he was so bloody obsessed with her.

After what seemed like an eternity, Rose’s tensed shoulders finally slumped. She exhaled a long breath, slipping her hand from his grasp to run through her mussed blonde hair. “I…I’m sorry, Michael.” Her voice was so low that he could barely hear it above the din of the airport. “I don’t mean to seem unappreciative. I just…I can’t stop thinking about Elisee and her family. Her father said she’s only getting worse and I…” She shook her head, falling silent for a moment before she managed to compose herself. “I just want to help them. No one seems to understand that.”

She was frustrated. Michael could admit that he himself was taken aback by how complicated it seemed in this particular instance to help one village in need. But he had given Rose his word that he would get her there and he certainly wasn’t going back on it now. “Trust me, Rose.” He repeated simply, reaching out to tip her chin up gently. When he leaned in to kiss her, she let him, her mouth molding against his with familiarity.

By the time he was finished teasing her with his teeth and tongue, the young woman was putty in his hands. Michael guided her backwards into an empty seat nearby, and there he left her. Reaching for his cell phone once more, he stepped away to make a few calls. He supposed Elias would simply have to wait.

Less than four hours later, Michael and Rose boarded a plane bound for Kinshasha. The jet, however, wasn’t a commercial plane. It was a private jet that Michael had allowed Elias to goad him into purchasing five years prior – one he almost never used. He supposed he’d have to thank his friend for baiting him, considering that the damned thing was the only reason they were leaving Britain on time.

He half expected Rose to turn her nose up at the plain’s extravagant trappings. She had, after all, been appalled at the prices in a five-star restaurant. Instead, however, she merely took her seat next to him with an appreciative smile. Once they were actually in the air, she did the last thing Michael would ever have expected.

“Your plane is lovely.”

The auburn haired man arched a brow, his expression incredulous. “Is it?”

In response, Rose just rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “I’m not saying it again. You only get the once.” She accepted the glass to champagne the single stewardess handed her gracefully before raising it in his direction. “I suppose I have to toast to you.”

Michael smiled at her forthrightness, accepting his own glass. “I feel as if no one could make you do anything you didn’t want, Rose.”

Her answering smile was radiant – well worth humbling himself. Besides, Michael truly couldn’t imagine Rose doing something she didn’t want to. Despite her family name and all she’d been afforded with, she had a completely different agenda – one that she was hell-bent on fulfilling at any cost.

And he admired that.

“You might be one of the only people to truly understand that.” She winked at him. Actually winked . It made him want to carry her back into the plane’s singular bedroom and ravish her all over again. “So a toast – to you, Lord Michael. And all your chivalry.”

“I’ll drink to that.” He touched his glass to hers before taking a sip of champagne. Almost immediately after taking a taste of her drink, however, Rose yawned so widely she almost dislocated her jaw. Michael chuckled. “You know, there is a bedroom on this aircraft.”

Rose merely gave him a wary look that had Michael groaning lowly at her implication. “For you to sleep , woman. Do you honestly expect me to have a go at you when you can hardly keep your eyes open?”

She sighed, leaning her head back against the plush leather of the seat. “I wouldn’t put it past you.”

Michael wouldn’t give her the benefit of knowing how right she really was. He’d wanted the woman powerfully since their first night together, and hadn’t had another opportunity in their Congo madness. If it were up to him, he’d have her clothes off right then and there in her seat; but although he wanted Rose so badly it was hard to concentrate on anything else, Michael wasn’t oblivious to how tired she was.

Hell, he was no stranger to how tired he was, either.

In a smooth movement, he unbuckled his seat belt and stood. Rose merely watched him curiously until he did the same for her before lifting her into his arms. Had she been well-rested, she might have protested a little bit more. As it was, she merely glared at him, clinging to him as he shifted her into a comfortable position in his arms. “I can walk, you know.”

He chuckled. “And I can play rugby. Did you know that ?”

He carried her down the long corridor at the center of the plane until he reached the door to the bedroom before opening it. Before Rose could protest, he was placing her atop the rich coverlet, fluffing up the pillows behind her. The young woman barely had the energy to put him off half-heartedly. “Michael, we are not doing this right now…”

“I’m not doing anything, Rose, but putting you to bed. If I wanted you,” Michael tucked the sheets in around her almost fondly. “Trust me, I would have you.”

Her sleepy attempt at a glare incited an unfamiliar little flip-flop in his abdomen. “In your dreams, you cheeky cad.” Two minutes after her soft retort, the young woman was dozing, her expression lax in slumber.

His lips turned upward in an amused smile, Michael simply watched her. When Rose Lithgall was awake, it seemed she was on her guard about everything and anything. The way people treated her, her morals and values, the tea she took…but when she was asleep…when she was asleep, she was nothing but angelic.

Carefully, Michael retrieved the sweater she wore, sliding it from her arms to set on the small table besides the bed. The young woman was still fully clothed, but something about the delicate curve of her bare arms…the way her golden hair spread across the pillow…it was enough to remind him that he wanted her beyond measure.

And he was rock hard within seconds.

Michael emitted a long-suffering sigh. He was a born and bred gentleman, but never had the regulations of etiquette pained him as much as they did in that moment. Reaching over, he drew his fingertips across the softness of Rose’s cheek lingeringly before he stood. Michael forced himself to leave the room and return to the plane’s lounge, where he asked the stewardess for a draft of Macallan’s. That, he thought, should put him to sleep. They had a seven-hour flight ahead of them, and if he could sleep the entire way without being plagued by thoughts of the woman in the bedroom, it would be a godsend.

While the stewardess was retrieving his drink, Michael spotted a leather-bound volume in one of the pockets meant for securing items for landing and takeoff. Curious, he reached for it, wondering what kind of reading material Rose might have brought for the journey. It was, of course, an old volume of Dickens. The discovery made him chuckle softly. For every way in Rose didn’t fit the mold of English nobility, there were some stereotypes she fell right into.

His own parents had, of course, forced him to read most of Dickens as a child, and he had been bored to tears. His own inclinations ran more towards medical journals and studies – volumes that hadn’t been “appropriate” for a boy of his age. Nonetheless, out of all the Dickens volumes Michael had read in the manor, he had never seen this one before.

Plucking it from the elastic pocket, Michael looked it over. Despite the fact that the book looked to be about twenty years old, it was well cared for. When he opened it, the spine didn’t crack. He was, however, surprised to find a family tree scrolling across the first blank pages of the book.

The tree detailed the Tate family members, going back almost one hundred and fifty years.  His parents were there, as well as his grandparents and great grandparents. Even the builders of the Tate mansions names were immortalized in history at the top of the page, in gold ink. At the very bottom of the page were the names of he and his sister, with space left for their children after them.

Michael was so tired he almost didn’t notice. It was such a tiny detail – a minor thing really – but his name…it was different from the others on the page. While the titles of all the Tate’s were written in gold ink, his was written in blue – and hastily. Almost as if someone had rushed the work instead of the inscription being intentional. As the stewardess handed Michael his drink, he glanced over the page once more.

Strange.

He might have pondered the script further, but three sips into his whiskey, his lids began to droop. Setting the book aside, Michael leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. Within minutes, he was sleeping soundly, with the family tree completely forgotten.

**

Even after they reached Kinshasha, their travel was hard. Despite their hard-won visas, Rose and Michael were both hassled in customs – detained for a total of ten hours. While Rose was indignant at first, the fatigue of her trip wore enough on her that she ultimately complied with the officers who questioned with them. After all, they had nothing to hide. She merely wanted to reach Elisee’s village as fast as humanly possible, and if that meant that she had to cooperate with pompous officials, she’d do it.

Michael, for his part, was amazingly patient. While Rose came close to losing her temper several times, he remained calm. It was almost as if he was the one used to heading into third world countries to grant assistance, and not her. But then again, Rose had always had a hot temper – especially when someone tried to keep her from reaching people who desperately needed her. When they were finally released from the airport, Michael eyed her speculatively.

“Are you always so brusque on your travels?”

Rose regarded him only briefly. If she looked at him too long, she found, certain desires creeped up on her, and now that they had arrived at their destination, she could barely afford distractions. “I’m a woman, Michael. I don’t usually travel with a gigantic Englishman by my side. If I wasn’t brusque I would be taken advantage of.”

She’d had it happen to her enough times that she always had her guard up now; Rose would never admit it, but she was convinced that the reason Congolese officials hadn’t detained them longer was because Michael’s immense, silent form had intimidated them. He was proving to be more useful than she had imagined. But that didn’t mean he would alter the way she travelled – especially in places as dangerous as this one.

From the capital city, they had to find and hire a car that was willing to take them to Elisee’s family village, which was over a hundred kilometers to the south through a region where travel had all but been abandoned. After looking for the better part of a day, Rose was convinced that no one would be willing to take them, no matter how much they offered – until the men Doctor Mabele had promised to send to accompany them arrived at their hotel just before dark. Rose’s hopes were bolstered when the men promised to transport them through the jungle the next day – one would think she should have been able to sleep easily.

But nothing was ever easy when Michael was involved.

The hotel only had two available rooms, and so, when their guides checked in, Rose was forced to stay with Michael – in a cramped room that had only a single queen bed. She spent half of the evening tensed in suspicion that he would seduce her again – the rest of it similarly unable to sleep because she wondered why the bloody hell he hadn’t tried anything. Around ten in the evening, the man simply shucked off his shirt – making her knees weak in the process – and lay down on his side of the bed, dozing off instantly.

Rose was caught between incredulity and affront. Even though she was worried for Elisee and her family, she couldn’t avoid the desire Michael stoked in her. He had told her on the plane that if he wanted her, he would have her. Did that mean that he didn’t want her anymore?

Once upon a time, she would have considered that triumph. Just now, however, she found the notion had her feeling a little…put out. After the man professed to want her so horribly badly, a single night turned out to be enough for him after all.

She fell into a fitful sleep a few hours before dawn, and when she woke, she grumbled through three cups of coffee. When Michael asked what had her in such a bad mood, her glare was enough to shut him up – which only put her in even more of a hellish mood. 

It wasn’t beyond Rose’s notice that she was behaving strangely. She was usually the last woman on earth to be frustrated by a man. She often told her mother and friends that her agenda was too full to worry about pleasing men – one of the reasons marriage hadn’t ever been at the forefront of her mind. But Michael…. somehow, the man was maddening . His mere presence was enough to make her want to choke and kiss him at the same time.

She was tense for the entirety of their trip. A combination of wondering if they would be set upon by conflicting people in the area, the jungle heat, and the way she caught Michael looking at her was enough to make Rose irate for the entire seven-hour trip. Atop that, she kept remembering how desperate Elisee’s father sounded the last time she spoke to him. Rose called the man the moment they touched down in the capital, and he told her that his daughter was only getting worse as days passed. Rose found comfort only in the fact that they would be arriving at the village soon – laden with medical supplies and food. They had, of course, catalogued said supplies as fertilizer, in case they happened upon hostile factions along the way.

But to Rose’s surprise, they were lucky. While they encountered a few checkpoints along the way, they weren’t attacked – and they weren’t waylaid. Perhaps due to the officials Doctor Mabele sent to accompany them. By the time the sun set, the jolting road beneath them smoothed and they found themselves on a smoother one. The jungle thinned out, and in distance, Rose spotted buildings on the edge of the village they sought.

She leapt to her feet in excitement, reaching for the edge of the jeep – just as they went over a hidden rut in the road. The contact jarred the young woman a foot from the floor of the jeep, and she gasped as she found herself staring at the ground as it rushed up towards her. Rose barely had time to scream – but then, all at once, she was jerked backward firmly by the collar of her shirt.

A short sound of surprise escaped her the moment she slammed against a solid wall of flesh.

Michael.

For a full minute, Rose’s heart was pounding too hard for her to feel anything else. She could have fallen to her death – had her head split open against the road. But, instead, Michael’s quick reflexes and strength had saved her.

She had never imagined that body of his was only for show, and now he’d proven it. After a full seven hours of her grousing at him like an uppity peacock.

To say she felt guilty would be the understatement of the century.

Luckily for her, Michael spoke before she had to come up with something to say for herself. “Alright, Rose?”

She had been careless – completely and utterly careless, and she expected the man to tell her so. To lecture her. This wasn’t her first rodeo – Rose knew better than to stand in a car under harsh conditions. But she’d simply been so relieved to see their destination…

But Michael didn’t lecture her. When she twisted in his lap to look down at him, the only expression on his face was one of concern. “I’m fine.” She managed, before wincing slightly at her own sharpness. Taking a breath, she tried again. “Really, I’m alright.”

Michael nodded, a small smile turning up the corners of his mouth. “Good.” The man’s hand ghosted through the blonde strands of her ponytail at the base of her neck, and Rose shivered. He should be back in Britain, enjoying tea and cake with the Countess in their manor. Enjoying his luxurious lifestyle in his air-conditioned parlor and being driven around in his father’s Rolls Royce.

But, instead, he was here with her. He had come thousands of miles on her whim, even helping her with challenges it might have taken her months to work out on her own. Even if Rose was unsure of what, exactly, Michael wanted with her, the least she could do was be cordial with the man.

“Thanks.”

Michael’s smile widened. “Of course. Don’t mention it.”

Within twenty minutes, they arrived on the outskirts of the village. When they hopped down from the jeep, Rose resisted the urge to run straight for its center. There were certain protocols it would be better to follow, and she didn’t relish the thought of putting herself in danger again.

The village elders met them at the edge of the settlement – and the weary wariness in their eyes was enough to send Rose’s heart out to them.

“Who are you?” A bend, dark-skinned man demanded in broken French. “We have no more supplies here. No more food.”

The elders thought they were another rival faction come to raid. It was enough to make Rose’s blood boil in anger. Stepping forward, she addressed the three men that stood before them.  “Honored elders, we are not here to take from you, but to give. I received a call from the father of Elisee. I’ve come here with medicine and food.” Taking Michael’s arm, she pulled him forward. “I also brought a doctor to treat the sick .”

For a moment, the elders merely stared at her, disbelief evident on their faces. They looked from her to the gargantuan man beside her and to the Congolese officials behind them. Then, the bent man between the other elders stepped forward. He took Rose’s hand between his weathered ones – and tears began to drip down his cheeks.

“Bless you, child.” Rose was filled with a mixture of warmth and grief at the flagrant relief on his face. “Bless you.”

They were admitted to the village with little difficulty. Dr. Mabele’s officials helped them to off-load the supplies from the jeep before standing guard, ready to inform any and everyone the moment another group of rebels appeared to take what they had. Rose knew they had to act quickly to be in and out before they could be threatened in such a way.

The village was in even worse shape than she had feared.

More than half of the inhabitants had cholera – a disease that might have been easy to treat with proper water purification systems and medicines. But, of course, all of that had been taken from them. Though Rose had seen sickness before, the sight of the decimated village was still enough to steal her breath. The sick were in houses, lying on makeshift cots out in the streets, and the village’s makeshift hospital was full to the brim.

Despite how prepared she thought she’d been, Rose found herself a little overwhelmed. She was used to working with a team of doctors – other aid workers and supply bearers. They were only five of them and so many sick…

“Alright.”

She was jerked from her reverie by Michael’s booming tenor. He gestured to two able bodied-men working out front of the hospital before switching to French. “The most imperative thing right now is to separate the sick from the healthy. Everyone sick should be gathered into the homes nearest the hospital. Everyone else should be placed at the opposite end of the village.” He was so authoritative that the men he spoke to didn’t even appear to hesitate. They began to follow Michael’s orders immediately. “Make sure to wash your hands.” The doctor cleansed his own hands with sanitizer before he set out to help them, moving people who were too weak to move into the two huts closest to the hospital.

The task took them the better part of three hours, and once that was done, Michael gave further instructions to boil all the water they could and use the filtration systems they had brought from the capital to filter additional water. He was obsessive about cleanliness, demanding that anyone helping him wash their hands every half an hour – including Rose. If the young woman thought Michael might exclude her from the process because she was a woman – or some even more sexist proclivation – she was surprised when Michael simply accepted her help without hesitation.

When he began to treat patients, Rose had to force herself to keep up with him. Watching the man was so damned enthralling that she almost lost herself in it. Michael never missed a beat. He was methodical and precise in his movements – administering fluids via IV before checking patients for signs of malnutrition. They were given medicine to break their fevers and made as comfortable as humanly possible before he addressed other concerns. There were a few infections. Some broken bones from the last run in they had with rival villages – and more than a few babies that simply needed their first rounds of vaccinations.

Through it all, Michael worked ceaselessly. He gave each patient the same attentive, accommodating care and not once did he lose his patience, despite working for hours on end.

Rose realized, in the first hour, how sorely she had underestimated the man – and not for the first time. When she had first come to the Tate manor, she thought him a pompous braggart – a man who had earned his medical degree more by virtue of his family name than anything else. But time and time again, Michael proved himself to be just as brilliant a doctor as he was rumored to be – if not more so. And now, he treated patients not in sterile, comfortable British hospitals, but out in the Congolese wilderness.

Without so much as batting an eye.

As Rose watched him, she felt a strange pull of longing in her belly.

Bloody hell, how long had it been since she’d had him. A week? Ten days? She told him so vehemently that there wouldn’t be another instance of intimacy between them, but now, more than anything, Rose wanted precisely that. She wanted to feel his hands roving her heated skin – to feel him inside her, pressing her against a mattress as he drove her towards the edge of sanity. She wanted all that…and something else. Something she couldn’t ever recall wanting before…

“Miss Rose…”

The young woman snapped back to the present at a weak voice from behind her. She whirled to see Elisee, in the arms of her father, and she couldn’t help the cry of dismay that escaped her. The beautiful little girl was hardly more than skin and bones. Rose rushed to her, touching her face with trembling fingers. “Elisee…” She couldn’t cry. She had to be strong for the child. “I’m so happy to see you .” She forced herself to smile. “We’re going to make you better .” Her hand curled around Elisee’s tiny, slender fingers. “I promise .”

Almost before she could finish, Michael was at her side. The doctor took one look from her to the tiny girl in her father’s arms, his expression grave. “Leave her with me, please, Mr. Mabele. ”

Rose could see from the man’s expression that letting his daughter go was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. Elisee was barely clinging to life and fear was evident in his gaze. Even so, he handed her over to Michael with little hesitation. The statuesque man whisked her away into one of the makeshift hospital huts, and no sooner had he gone than Mr. Mabele fell to his knees in the dirt before Rose.

Almost immediately, she knelt with him, taking his hands between hers. “It will be alright, Mr. Mabele. Michael will take care of her. She’ll be alright .” She knew she was making promises she might not be able to keep, but Rose could hardly fathom Elisee slipping away from them. She’d come all this way for her sake, and if the little girl died, she didn’t know what she’d do.

“Her mother died two days ago, Miss Rose.” The man’s expression was utterly desolate. “I cannot lose my daughter. I cannot.”

If it were within Rose’s power, she would make Elisee spring back to life instantly. But now, the little girl’s life was in Michael’s hands, and all they could do was pray.

For a few hours, Rose forced herself to house outside of the hospital. There were people who needed to eat and drink – who were exhausted from caring for the sick. She worked with a few women of the village to make dinner and make sure the elderly and the very young were fed. In their gratitude, some of the women even diverted her from the direness of their situation by showing her how to string beads in the way their grandmothers had taught them. Those Rose’s finished product was absolutely beastly, they praised her, and she found a moment of good humor. Once all of the women had left to tend to their families, however, she was left awake and plagued with worry.

She finally made her way back to the hospital, her stomach in knots of apprehension. Rose found Mr. Mabele asleep on a pallet close to where his daughter had been placed in a curtained section away from the other sick patients. For a moment, Rose feared the worst – but all at once, Michael’s low voice cut quietly through the dimness.

“Can you count to ten in English, Elisee? Did they teach you in school?”

To Rose’s surprise, when the little girl replied, her voice already sounded twice as strong as it had mere hours ago.

“Oui . One, two three, four, five six…..six…” The child hesitated and Michael’s answering chuckle warmed Rose’s heart.

“Seven. Next is seven.”

“….Seven…eight…nine….ten!”

“Very good,” The man switched back to French effortlessly, and Rose found herself flushing when she remembered assuming he couldn’t speak the language. “You’re a very smart girl. I’m sure your father is very proud of you .”

“He says I should listen to my teachers and go to school until I’m smart enough to be a doctor, like you.”

Though she couldn’t see his face, Rose could hear the amusement in Michael’s words. “And do you want to be a doctor, Elisee?”

There was a slight pause as the little girl considered. “I want to be a dancer. I want people to be happy when they see me dance. So happy they forget they are hungry.”

Though Rose prided herself on her sensibility, Elisee had tugged at her heartstrings in a way no one had for a long time – and she continued to do so. The little girl was amazingly brave, even in the face of adversity.

“I think you would be a wonderful dancer. If you want to get back to practicing soon though, you’ll need your rest. You should sleep now.”

When Elisee replied, her soft voice was almost shy. “Doctor Michael…will you stay until I fall asleep. ”

Rose’s eyes widened at the small girl’s request. In the short time Elisee had spent in Britain, she had warmed to no one but Rose herself. Anyone else was more liable to send her into fits of hysterics than to appease her. Atop that, Michael was a large, intimidating hulk of a man…but Elisee had taken a liking to him.

“Of course I will, sweet. Sleep now.”

Rose wasn’t sure what shocked her more, Elisee’s request or Michael’s answer. Of course, she’d never seen the man interact with children, but she had never imagined he would be so patient – especially after an entire day of being worked to the bone.

But then…she seemed to have a habit of underestimating Lord Michael Tate.

Silently, Rose waited a full ten minutes until the sound of Elisee’s breathing evened out. A mere moment later, Michael slipped away from her, his face illuminated by the light of the lantern he carried as he stepped out from behind the makeshift curtain. When his eyes fell on Rose, he merely arched a brow. “Spying on me, are we?”

Rose merely stared at him, utterly transfixed. It was obvious that the man was fatigued, but she read not one iota of discontent on his face.

“What kind of Lord are you?” He had, in fact, asked her a similar question after their evening at the soup kitchen. She couldn’t help but repeat it now.

In response, Michael merely showed her a weary smile. “A very tired one.”

The village had scant accommodations for outsiders – two huts on the edge of the settlement, one of which had already been taken by Doctor Mabele’s helpful officials. Rose had earlier planned to insist that Michael spent the night with them rather than be plagued with another night of trying to fight the warring emotions in her gut. But now, she found she’d had a complete change of heart.

“Come on.” Reaching out, she took his hand in hers, a shiver traversing the length of her spine when he touched her.  “There’s nothing more you can do tonight. They’re all asleep.”

Michael said nothing, merely allowing her to lead him from the hut and out into the open. Above them, stars were scattered across the vast expanse of the sky. They twinkled brilliantly, unfettered by city lights that would normally threaten them. Rose led Michael to the single empty hut, shutting the door behind them before she set his lamp aside.

“You worked like a machine today.” Before he could begin to remove the shirt he wore, her hands rose to the buttons, pushing his away. One by one, she undid them, until the wide, muscular expanse of his chest was revealed.

“Rose.” Michael’s voice had already dropped to a low, sinuous tone of desire. “You don’t have to-”

“Didn’t you once tell me that no one could make me do something I didn’t want to?” She said, cutting him off gently, raising her gaze to his. Michael’s own eyes twinkled in amusement at her inquiry.

“I might have.”

“You were right, Michael.” Taking the lapels of his jacket, the young woman drew him downward until his mouth was inches from hers. “I only do what I want. And right now…I want you.”

Within an instant, the man’s arms closed around her in a tight embrace. It didn’t matter that they were thousands of miles away from Britain – that they weren’t in a fancy hotel with five-star accommodations. In that instant, Rose wanted Michael more powerfully than she ever had – and she always got what she wanted.

Chapter 5: Congo Rescue

 

She would have preferred a bed. In an ideal world, Rose might have wanted her second time with Michael to be much the same as the first – in a plush bed in a well-appointed bedroom. But now, somehow, she found that the time and place meant little to her. All she knew was that she wanted the man inside her as soon as possible, and damn the details.

Even as she pressed her mouth to his, she remembered that he was tired. He worked with patients all day, washed and rewashed his hands until they were chapped and blistered – but he hadn’t complained not once.

She realized she had been woefully wrong in her assessment of Earl Michael Tate. Up until this point, Rose had been convinced that, despite what he might want her to think, Michael was stereotypical nobility. His mother and father had molded him in their image, and there was no escaping that.

In a way, Rose was right. In the typical matter of British aristocrats, Michael was used to getting what he wanted. He wasn’t afraid to make demands and take things as he saw fit; but as far as what Michael wanted…the only thing Rose had ever seen him go after aggressively was she herself.

And that…she found she didn’t mind so much.

Though there wasn’t a bed in the small hut, there was a large, raised pallet that was soft enough for sleeping. If Rose thought Michael was too tired to do much beyond collapse on it, however, she was proved wrong when he lifted her into his arms to deposit atop their makeshift bed. He completed the action without ever taking his mouth from hers, and Rose moaned as he tugged at her lower lip hungrily. There was no way he should have so much energy – she’d intended to take the lead.

But it appeared as if Michael had other plans. Even as she worked at the buttons of his shirt, he was already lifting her camisole off and over her head to bare the simple cotton bra she wore beneath. The temperatures in this hemisphere of the world prevented her from wearing much else – and for once, Rose was glad. The sooner she felt Michael’s naked skin against hers, the better.

The man reached behind her in a swift motion to undo the clasp of her bra, and her breasts tumbled free. But Rose barely had a moment to feel the absence of the thin cotton before the scalding heat of Michael’s mouth wrapped around one of her nipples. She gasped, her fingers threading through his hair as she clutched him close to her. The man took hold of one of her thighs, hoisting it high so he could fit himself in between. The moment he pressed his rising erection between her legs, Rose arched against him, a soft whimper of need escaping her. How long had it been?

It seemed like eons had passed since the last time she had Michael inside her. Reaching down, she fumbled for the fastening of the slacks he wore, only to have him catch her eager hands firmly. “Slow .” He murmured a low, husky command against her ear a moment before nipping at the fine line of her neck. “No need to rush.”

But there was . Rose wanted him so badly she thought she might die with need of him. Of course, it would stand to reason that the infuriating man would thwart her. This, however, was not the time to take up arms. She would do her best to get him to see reason – her reason.

Lowering her head, Rose pressed her own line of heated, biting kisses over Michael’s throat and collarbone before continuing lower, over the gorgeously sculpted width of his chest. She didn’t think she would ever quite get used to being able to touch him like this – Rose had the idea that Michael all but invited it whenever he could, while she could barely bring herself to be so bold.

Of course, there were occasions when her need eclipsed her rational mind. Then, allowances were made.

She loved the way his breath hitched when her lips ghosted over a nipple, the way his divine stomach muscles contracted when her fingertips skittered over his abdomen. He was, she realized, just as vulnerable to her as she was to him – and that power made her feel invincible.

Rose found a particularly vulnerable spot on the man’s neck sucked hard. Michael’s grip tightened until it was almost vice-like and he thrust the jut of his erection against her instinctively. Rose shuddered, reaching for her goal once more. This time, when she undid his zipper, he didn’t utter the slightest protest. Instead, he only growled low in his throat, helping her divest him of his pants. Within moments, they were tossed off against the thatched wall of the hut to join the pile that her shirt and camisole had started.

When Rose finally peeled his underwear down over his thighs, his erection sprang, thick and hot, against her bare belly. Though she was still wearing her cotton pants, there might as well have been nothing between them. Michael palmed her breasts, drawing the nipples to swift attention with dexterous fingers as his mouth devoured hers. As quickly as she’d divested him of his clothing, he stripped her off her pants before all but ripping through the flimsy material of her underwear. Then, she was gloriously naked, his sweat-slick skin sliding against her own.

But she still hadn’t won.

Rose’s attempts to position herself adequately beneath Michael were thwarted when his mouth let hers and a rough moan escaped her. The man skirted past her breasts, only teasing her aching nipples with his thumbs before he finally began kissing and licking at her lower belly. At the unexpected attention, Rose squirmed, her fingers tugging at his dark waves in an attempt to get him back to where she wanted him.

She should have known better.

Michael ignored her completely in favor of a more selfish goal. Taking hold of the soft flesh of her thighs, he parted them almost brusquely to reveal the prize in between. Rose hadn’t a single second to be mortified before his mouth covered her lower folds to begin a ravenous worship that threatened to draw a scream from her lips.

The young woman bit down on her lower lip, her entire body trembling. Somehow, she found herself both wanting to escape and draw closer to Michael’s ridiculously talented mouth. Every lap of his tongue threatened to steal away her rational thought – the way he sucked and licked at the most sensitive parts of her was nothing less than obscene. But Rose could have no more stopped him than she could have ceased to exist.

She gasped her lover’s name, begged and pleaded until he concentrated his attentions on the minute bead of her pleasure, swollen and over sensitized from his teasing. All it took was a few seconds of deliberate, soft suckling and she was exploding – her toes curling as her orgasm swept her powerfully over the edge into an ocean of pleasure that stole her breath.

Michael took it all in stride, massaging her thighs and behind sensually until she came back down to earth. He still lapped at her every so often, sending spikes of pleasure through her already exhausted form, until she was urging him back upwards with breathless sounds of protest. “Stop…” she groaned against his mouth, tasting herself on his lips. “Please…”

Michael merely chuckled darkly against her lips. “I thought this was supposed to be about me, Rose…” He nipped at her lower lip before sucking it slowly between his own. “And I’d be content to spend the evening with your thighs wrapped around my neck.”

She shook her head frantically, the prospect alone enough to make her stomach clench in longing. “Need you...inside .” How the hell had he managed to reduce her to this panting, writhing creature of need? Before Michael, Rose had all but decided that she could do without sex, thank you very much. Now, fantasies about Michael took up at least half of her waking hours.

Even now, Rose thought he would continue to tease her. That was, after all, in his nature. However, at her plea, Michael’s eyes took on a predatory gleam. He shifted on the pallet until the length of his arousal pressed against the cleft of her drenched lower folds.  “Say that again,” he commanded, low and rough against her ear so she arched against him powerfully.

And, for once, Rose didn’t deny him. “I need you!” She all but sobbed the words, knowing that she’d been caught in a moment of vulnerability. She, who prided herself on needing no one, admitted that she wanted him more badly than she needed her next breath.

And, of course, Michael assuaged her.

His thrust home drew a stifled cry from her as her muscles clenched reflexively around his intrusion. Then, he pressed deeper, and a low moan tore from her lips as his mouth found hers once more. Rose wrapped her arms around his neck as he began to move, withdrawing almost completely before filling her again and again.

Had it felt this good the first time? Had anything ever felt so good? The young woman wasn’t sure. What she was certain of was that Lord Michael Tate was going to be the death of her and all her better sensibilities. With each slide of his body against hers, each punishing, glorious thrust, she wanted more and more of him. Sweat-damp hair clung to the back of her neck, and her legs were wrapped, vice-like, around his waist. She never wanted it to end.

But an earth-shattering conclusion was inevitable.

Reaching beneath her, her lover curled his fingers into the supple flesh of her behind, angling his thrusts so that every motion stroked a place inside Rose that made stars spring to life before her eyes. Rose kissed him hungrily, drinking from him desperately as his rhythm dissolved into ragged, primal motions of his hips against hers. She was close, so close…

And then he whispered in her ear; “Come for me, Rose. Do it now. ”

The blonde heiress complied in spectacular fashion. Her second orgasm of the evening crashed over her as she clung wildly to Michael, riding out the waves of her passion. He was swept up in her wake, groaning lowly as he thrust deeply before a hot rush of seed spilled inside her. Rose gasped, relishing the intimacy of the moment – and it occurred to her dimly that this was the second time she had let Michael inside her without protection. She, of course, was protected herself, but for her to be so careless…well, suffice it to say, Michael brought out a number of qualities she usually prided herself against .

But none of that mattered now. Her only concern was the man still wrapped around her, and the way their breaths mingled as their bodies cooled. Unlike before, the immense man didn’t automatically roll away from her. Instead, he let his weight press her into the pallet, and Rose found no temptation to complain.

It felt good to be like this – at peace with the world. They had made it to Africa, they were doing everything they possibly could, and now, after several days of need so acute it was almost pain, Michael was here with her – without a single smart comment on his lips. The thought was enough to draw a small smile from her.

Almost ten minutes passed before the good doctor finally lifted himself from her. When his still half-hard erection slid from her, Rose bit her lip at the moan of longing his absence elicited. When she moved to procure towels for them instead, however, Michael merely wrapped a burly arm around her waist and hoisted her back against him. A low cry of surprise escaped her as he tugged her back down on the pallet before pinning her against him.

She might have planned to make her move the moment the man fell asleep, but Rose was shocked to find that he already was asleep – snoring softly against her neck.

She must have worn him out.

No, strike that. He had already been worn out. Rose had merely pushed him over the edge to exhaustion. Of course, the first time she’d fallen asleep in Michael’s arms, she woke in a panic. Now, despite the heat of the Congo and her own reservations, she couldn’t tear herself away. Besides that, it would be selfish to wake up such a hardworking man.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

With all the life-threatening events going on in the village coupled with their own shenanigans, Rose and Michael didn’t fall asleep until the wee hours of the morning – which meant that barely a few hours passed before they were woken again.

Rose couldn’t remember the last time she’d been more tired. She forced herself into her clothes before heading out to the communal pump with those well enough to care for others. After splashing her face with cold water, she found herself ten times more alert – enough to blush when Michael looked in her direction. He had trudged out to the pump shirtless, and once everyone was through washing up, he held his entire torso over the pump and wet himself from the waist up.

Rose stared – she couldn’t help it. The man’s body was even more magnificent in the morning light. By the time they walked back to the hut to dress, the sun had all but dried him. Any attempts she made to dress quickly and slip from the hut were thwarted by a single touch – Michael drew his fingertips intimately across the small of her back, making her tremble lightly. He did nothing more – and nothing was needed for her mind to be on him for the rest of the day.

And the day after that.

And the entire week following that one.

Rose had always prided herself on her dedication to her charity work. It was one of the few things she believed gave her life meaning. Her way of atoning for all the opulent spending of her generation and her parents before her. She felt the most fulfilled when she was helping others – so much so that she tended to rise to her own physical slice of heaven when she was working.

Now, she found herself in a slightly different position.

Her days were consumed with helping the people of Elisee’s village – nursing the sick and making sure that simple infrastructure didn’t fall apart. All in all, the actions were nothing the young woman hadn’t seen before in her travels. She brought water from wells, fed the very elderly and the very young thin water porridge, helped to make food and purify water, as well as spent a good portion of her time helping Michael out in the makeshift hospital. However, instead of being completely absorbed in her duties this go-round, Rose found herself drawn to watch the way Michael worked.

She found that she both envied and admired him. The man could administer the kind of care that she couldn’t, having a formal medical certificate. Atop that, he had an innate skill for being able to examine each patient with attention to their particular situation – he treated adults with the same courtesy that he treated children, and made sure to do his job thoroughly without cutting corners. The people of the village took to him instantly, and offered him little in the way of resistance when it came to treating them.  By their second week in the village, most of them were up and on their way back towards health, thanks to the Doctor’s treatment and strict instructions.

Michael also helped the Doctor Mabele’s men to make sure that some of their supplies were hidden, in case the village was raided for goods again. They would need water purifiers, food, and a number of medical supplies, which he helped them stash in a secret place that not even Rose knew about.

The more she watched him, the more attracted to him she grew – and Rose couldn’t force herself to simply ignore him. That might have been possible once, but it wasn’t anymore. She was spending too much time in close quarters with the man – and it was slowly eroding the barriers she’d built around herself.

Rose had sworn to herself that she’d never let a man in if she could help it. That road only led right where her mother wanted it to – marriage and eventual settling when she could hardly stand the idea at her age. This was where she belonged.

…but Rose had to admit that she’d barely ever contemplated what might happen if there was a man who had the same mindset as she did. Certainly, that man wasn’t Michael. He was doing this as a favor to her. He was far too entrenched in his medical practices and the world beyond to actually share her unique point of view…but a man like him forced her to wonder…had she been robbing herself her entire adult life?

It was an interesting notion…one she promised herself she’d consider more the moment she had the time. Currently, she was swamped.

And that was the way Rose preferred it.

Of course, she could only work so many hours in a day. There came a time where everyone settled down – where the village went quiet for the night. And then, Rose would remember that she was sharing a tent with Michael. Sometimes she would reach the hut before him and fall into an exhausted sleep and sometimes she would arrive to find him already there. In the case of the former, she would always find herself woken by the man’s presence beside her. Most of the time they were far too exhausted to do anything but sleep, but sometimes…sometimes Michael did things that stole every iota of her strength before she actually got to sleep.

And it was those nights she liked best.

She and Michael fell into a routine for the two weeks they spent at the village. They worked for every single one of their waking hours and then all but fell into one another’s arms for the rest of the day. As they were so far from England and familiarity, Rose could almost pretend that what they were doing was commonplace – that there was nowhere to go back to. But that delusion was, unfortunately, stolen from her quite hastily.

On the verge of their third week in the Democratic Republic of Congo, their little bubble of peace was shattered.

Rose awoke around seven in the morning to a loud commotion beyond the hut that she and Michael shared. When she straightened, struggling back to consciousness, a heavy hand immediately pressed against her chest. Rose was about to chastise Michael for touching her so intimately when she took in the expression on his face.

The warning in his eyes made her blood run cold.

Michael was stock still, every single muscle in his body tense. In that moment, Rose noticed that he had moved instinctively to shield her smaller form with his own – and that fondling her breasts was the least of his intentions.

Swallowing thickly, the young woman pulled in a shaky breath as she strained to hear what was going on beyond the thin walls of the hut. From their current position, she could make out little – only that whoever was arguing spoke a curious mixture of French and some tribal language that she had no knowledge of.

They sounded hostile.

Without a word, Michael slid from the pallet, almost catlike. He was still completely naked from the previous night, and so Rose did everything in her power not to stare at him – considering the circumstances. He quickly tossed her the plain sundress she’d worn the previous day before stepping into his own khakis.

Just as Rose had finished covering herself, the door of the hut burst open, drawing a gasp of shock from the young woman as the sunlight beyond momentarily blinded her. The moment passed quickly, and then she could see all too clearly the men who stood in the doorway – they were militia uniforms and were armed with what appeared to be automatic rifles. Rose’s heart leapt into her throat as one of the men pointed his weapon at her.

“Out .” He commanded, his French fragmented. Before he could make a single move towards her, however, Michael stepped between Rose and the gun, his expression surprisingly calm.

“We’ll be out in a moment. The lady’s not decent.”

Tension filled the small hut with its stifling aura, and for a moment, Rose forgot how to breathe. The intruder didn’t lower his weapon. On the contrary, he continued to level it at Michael’s chest, and it was the first time that Rose had seen the doctor in anything else but a position of power. All it would take was a single motion of the assailant’s finger, and Michael would be gone.

The thought made her sick to her stomach.

For what seemed like an eternity, the two men stared one another down. Rose could barely stand on her own, and her heartbeat was pounding in her ears. But Michael didn’t move one inch.

Finally….finally the dark-skinned man lowered his gun, but his expression remained severe. “You have five minutes!” He barked. “Someone will be watching the hut! ” With that, he and his companion took his leave, shutting the door behind them.

Rose finally let out the breath she hadn’t even been aware she was holding, immediately rushing to Michael’s side. “Are you alright?” Her voice was trembling. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so frightened.

“Fine.” Michael’s voice was taut – curt. If he was trying to reassure her, the strain in his voice only made her all the more nervous. “Listen, Rose: You stay in the hut.”

The young woman’s eyes immediately widened in shock. He had to be joking. Armed men just told them to get out on pain of death. What was he getting at, telling her to stay inside? He was putting both of them at risk!

“I most certainly will not!” She burst immediately, her heart hammering against her ribs. “If you walk out there alone, they’ll blow your brains out!”

“And what do you think they’ll do to you?” He said, his voice quiet and firm, his gaze gleaming with something she had never before witnessed: anger. “We’re not exactly sure what their intentions are yet, so don’t jump to conclusions. I’ll try to speak with them first, but until that happens, I want you to stay here.”

She wanted to argue – it was in her nature to argue. If she wanted two, Rose could pull any number of cards on the man – that she knew the people here far better than he knew them. That she had much less to lose – but in that moment, not a single valid argument rose to her lips. Perhaps it was fear or trepidation…but in that moment, Rose couldn’t think of a single rebuttal to Michael’s demand.

Slowly, she nodded.

With her assent confirmed, Michael turned from her to continue dressing, shrugging into a t-shirt before pulling on a pair of slippers one of the community’s women had made him. Anyone who came upon him would barely know he was an English aristocrat. Rose had long made it her duty to blend in as much as she could in the communities that she helped, but Michael didn’t have to be told. After a few days in the Congo, he began to blend in naturally.

When she opened her mouth to tell him so, Rose was cut off succinctly by Michael’s lips closing over hers. For the briefest of moments, his touch blotted out all her fear – every iota of uncertainty in her body. For a fraction of a moment, it was just she and him – his taste and smell enveloping her until there was nothing left.

And then the moment was broken. “Don’t come out until I tell you to. Is that understood?” Michael cupped her face briefly, and Rose, still dazed, could do little more than nod. “Good.” Michael’s smile was faint, fading from his face a moment before he turned to slip through the door and close it behind him.

In his absence, Rose raised a hand to her mouth to run her fingers over kiss-swollen lips. Now, she had no idea what was happening outside – whether Michael or the other villagers were in danger, or what kind of trouble was befalling them.

All she could do was trust in a man out of his element.

The notion terrified her.

**

This was inevitable.

Of course, Michael had hoped they might be able to get in and out before any serious conflict came their way, but they happened to be in a country characterized by that very conflict. It was the reason their visas had been so hard to come by. The reason all the flights had been cancelled and the reason he’d had to all but sell his soul to get his own private plane to fly to Kinshasha.

So it made sense that they’d run into at least one mishap or the other.

Funny that Michael was no stranger to guns. As a doctor, he was intimately familiar with the damage they could cause. Torn tendons, ragged, bleeding wounds. Bullets from guns could poison the blood and kill you just as quickly as the wound itself could. He made himself a better doctor by studying the weapons that caused the wounds. Of course, on that front, his noble blood had helped him more than a little bit. He had access to private hunting clubs and gun shoes barred to the public – and so, there had been a period in his life during which he’d tried to research as many of the weapons as possible.

The ones these militants carried were AK47s.  Imported – which meant they were probably stolen. He had little doubt that these men were the very same ones who had raided Elisee’s village in the past and stolen the first batch of supplies sent for the little girl. They were smart – rather than elect to choose new hunting grounds, they came back to people they knew they could scare and intimidate.

Thanks to the village elders, however, this time, the supplies had been hidden. Which meant that the militants would have a time trying to find them.

He simply hoped they didn’t decide to get violent.

With Rose safe, for the moment, he strode from the hut they shared and into the early morning sunlight. Michael was painfully aware that he wore nothing that would shield him from a killing bullet – probably one of the worst nightmares of someone who knew exactly how much damage they could do. But still, he refused to panic. Panicking rarely got him anywhere. It was in his mother’s nature to panic over the slightest thing – which was why Michael had always tended towards calm in the face of calamity.

Granted, he had never been in quite this dire a situation.

The village was in a state of pandemonium. All told, there appeared to be about twenty militants who were going to round up all of those villagers who were healthy enough to stand. Others guarded makeshift hospitals and doorways, making sure the entire population was accounted for. Michael spotted the leader of the ragtag group straight away – he wore a military beret at a cocky angle, despite his rotten teeth and yellow nails. His eyes were black and cruel…which meant that speaking to him was going to be far from pleasant.

With a frown, Michael met the eyes of the pushy man who had demanded that he exit the tent. Almost immediately, he asked after Rose. “Where is the woman?” He certainly liked to point that gun of his around. Michael wondered if it was, in fact, loaded. There was probably about a fifty-fifty chance, but it wasn’t one he was willing to take.

“She’s scared,” He replied, his voice steady. “Can’t stand. She needs a moment.” The militant simply sneered, gazing back at the hut. If he took a single step towards it, it wasn’t going to matter how Michael felt about the probability of stepping in front of a loaded gun. He would do whatever he needed to keep himself between this man and Rose.

Pure instinct told him that.

Thankfully, however, his adversary didn’t try to head back for the hut. Instead, he merely poked Michael in the small of his back with the gun, urging him forward.

The doctor didn’t hesitate. He let himself be corralled towards the center of the village with the rest of its healthy inhabitants. He wasn’t shocked when he soon found himself in front of the leader of the militants himself. Michael glanced around at the frenzy of movement that surrounded him as he was forced to his knees before the man. These people were frightened. If they were asked where the supplies were hidden, and in what location, they would probably tell.

And then they would find themselves in the same situation all over again – overtaken by epidemic, starving and marked as prey to roaming groups of bandits.

“Who are you?” He was surprised that the leader spoke English – even if it was bad English. “I never see white man in this village before.”

Michael took a steadying breath. “I’m a doctor. I’ve been treating the sick here for the past few weeks.”

Almost immediately, the man’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “So you have medicines? Medical supplies?”

“Only what you can find in the clinic. I’ve actually been running out of supplies. I didn’t bring enough.” He had to lie through his teeth now. It was the only way.

“I want everything you have left. Everything!” Michael nodded immediately. The quicker they took everything they could see and left, the better. No one had to get hurt. “Find all the supplies!” The leader directed his men brusquely. “Take everything they have left.”

Did Rose have to deal with this often?

The thought popped into Michael’s head all at once. The woman was constantly travelling the world, putting herself in compromising positions of poverty and danger to help those less fortunate. He was willing to bet she had found herself in this type of situation more than once before.

It had to be infuriating. Even for him, who had never been to this village, never met these people…it was hard to watch them being robbed and taken advantage of. They had so precious few resources – how could anyone with a heart prey on them like this? The anger churning in his gut was a dangerous thing, he knew. While Michael tended to be fairly composed the majority of the time, when his temper showed, it was a hard thing to reign back in.

Elias could attest to that.

But Michael kept his mouth shut. He watched as they took the remaining medical supplies available in the hospital. They even took half-full IVs away from patients on fluids and meds out of bottles. Then, they proceeded to raid houses for any and everything of value.

And still, all Michael could do was watch.

Watch and seethe.

He was breathing deeply – doing quite admirably, in his opinion, at controlling his rage. That was, at least, until Rose’s voice rang out. “Take your hands off me! ” Immediately, he whipped around to see two men dragging her struggling form from the hut. Whatever their pretenses for removing her from the dwelling clinically, their hands were where they shouldn’t be – roving places that only he was allowed to touch.

His anger ratcheted up a notch.

He watched them drag her across the square, read the fear in her eyes and felt himself reaching the point of no return. It was idiotic, that he would even consider losing his temper in current company, but Michael couldn’t help it. The sight of those selfish, ignorant bastards palming Rose like she was theirs, taking what wasn’t theirs to take…

“Let her go.”

The words left him, cold and heavy with warning.  Immediately, half the eyes of the militant bandits were on him. They were itching for a fight and he’d just given them a valid reason to start one. When Rose caught his gaze from ten feet away, her eyes were wide in alarm.

Then, all at once, the leader was in front of him. Unlike his companions, he didn’t have an AK47. He had a .50 caliber pistol – an unusually gaudy machine to be swinging around in the middle of nowhere – and he pressed it to Michael’s temple without hesitation. “You don’t make the demands here, English man. I make demands here. This village is mine .”

Michael merely glared up the barrel of the idiot’s gun. He was being irrational, he knew. He was putting himself and others at risk.

…but if he had to watch one more idiot put his hands on Rose, he was going to lose his cool completely.

Michael’s mother had completely opposed his taking Krav Maga when he told her he began classes. She’d much rather he have taken up fencing or something equally as “aristocratic”. He had been happy to disappoint her. As a doctor, it had always been important to Michael to hone his mind as well as his body, and Krav Maga was a perfect martial art for doing both. The training gave him strength and dexterity, among other skills.

It also taught him how to evade a gun held point blank to his head.

Taking a deep breath, he flexed his right arm and grabbed the muzzle of the gun, tearing it away from his forehead. A millisecond after, the gun heated enough to burn his hand as it fired, and Michael fought every impulse he had to merely release it. Instead, he grabbed the damn thing, jerking it backward to a chorus of Rose’s screams. In the next moment, he had the weapon placed against the leader’s head – and he wondered what on earth he was doing. The man struggled, but reasonably, he was about half Michael’s size – if that. There was little he could do.

His companions, however, could do plenty – and they leveled every weapon that they had directly at Michael’s head.

He had exacerbated an already potentially dangerous situation – him and his damned temper.

The men shouted at him in a litany of languages to drop the weapon, their faces absolutely livid, and Michael found himself quite the decision to make. If he did let the man go, no doubt he would kill him as soon as he had his gun back in hand. If he didn’t, the men would probably realize sooner rather than later that Rose could be used as a bargaining chip, and her life would be in danger.

And it was all his fault.

The split second it took him to decide felt like an eternity – but, luckily enough, Michael didn’t end up making any rash decisions.

Because, at that point, hell broke loose from the jungle half a mile to their south.

There was an immense crashing and cacophony of metal against timber and dust as no less than three tanks appeared against the tree line. It wasn’t an overwhelmingly huge, threatening number, but it was enough to make their militant attackers cower. Within the space of two minutes, the suddenly reevaluated their plan of attack.

The men abandoned their leader, flooding from among their various places hiding in the village as they leapt into various vehicles and raced off, fear evident in their eyes. Michael wasn’t sure what was coming, but thanks to the pompous man he currently held captive, he had a weapon – and that was better than nothing, where these men were concerned. If they had tanks, they had to be infinitely more dangerous than the men that were leaving.

“Rose!” He shouted across the immense crown of villagers that were already scrambling to get back in their huts. “Go with them! Take cover!”

The moment his eyes met her outraged gray gaze, Michael knew that she planned to defy him – and he wasn’t wrong. In the space of three seconds, she had worked her way through the throng to his side. She stayed far enough away so that the man in his grasp couldn’t reach her, but close enough for him to feel her warmth. “You’re insane. The last time I listened to you, you lost your mind,” she insisted, shaking her head in defiance. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He might have argued with her, had he not had a struggling Congolese militiaman in his arms, but at that point, Michael was too concerned with actively keeping her safe. That, and the tanks that were bearing down on them in spectacular fashion. Michael didn’t know whether he would label Rose brave or completely off her rocker for remaining by his side, but he was inclined to believe the latter.

After all, she had her own problems controlling her temper.

The tanks were clunky, old things – but nonetheless they moved at a solid clip. Within five minutes they were on the edge of the village – and there, the immense vehicles pulled to a stop. Despite his captive’s cursing, Michael continued to hold him tight. There was a chance – albeit a small one – that whoever was in the tanks was with the man he held.

He didn’t want to think of what might happen if that were the case.

He and Rose were some of the few people who remained in the village square, watching and waiting with bated breath to see who emerged from the tanks. One minute passed, and then two, before the heavy doors atop the vehicles clanked open.

When a head of raven waves popped out, Michael felt his jaw go slack. What the bloody hell !?

“I told you not to go fucking gallivanting off to third-world countries.” Elias Johnson stepped out of the tank before hopping down into the dust. “But you wouldn’t listen.”

For a long moment, the doctor just stared, scarcely able to believe his eyes. He had to be dreaming, right? Why the hell would Elias be in Africa?

He was even more shocked when, behind the man, a number of men in the official Congolese military uniform streamed from the tank to surround him and the man he held. “You can release him, Dr. Tate.” One of the men spoke perfect English, an amused twinkle in his eye. “He is lucky we have come to save him.”

Michael didn’t hesitate. He immediately released the man, who appeared for a moment or two to contemplate running before he merely slumped, and two of his better-dressed counterparts took him into custody. Of course, the doctor immediately handed over the gun as well. He didn’t like guns – never had. Learning them had been a necessary evil.

“Dear Lord, Michael. Your hand.” The moment the militia leader was safely away, Rose rushed to him. For once, she didn’t seem to care who was watching as she took his hand in a gentle grip, turning it this way and that. The spot that took the majority of the impact when he shoved the gun away was beginning to blister – a minor inconvenience.

“So you’re the lovely lady I’ve been hearing so much about.” When Elias addressed her, Rose’s head popped up in surprise. She looked from Michael to Elias and then back again, her expression confused.

“Michael…what on earth is Elias Johnson doing in the middle of the Congo?”

So she knew who he was. Michael colored himself slightly surprised. For someone who tended to avoid the opulence of nobility, it was pretty surprising that Rose followed someone like Elias. The man was an international celebrity.

Elias, however, only arched a brow. After all, he expected everyone to know who he was. “I came to get him. Well, both of you, more precisely. What in the seven hells were you thinking , entering the Congo at a time like this?”

Uh-oh.

Michael looked from Elias to Rose and then back again. He had no idea how he’d kept from noticing before, but they had the same stubborn look in their eye when they were determined to do something. Though they had different values, they followed those values with similar dogged perseverance.

It was unstoppable force meets immovable object. “Thank you for coming after us, Mr. Johnson, but I assure you that we entered this country perfectly legally, and with a Congolese escort. Someone of your import hardly need to come and make a scene of rescuing us.”

Michael could have groaned at the gleam in Elias’ eye. So it began.

“Begging your pardon, my lady, but you’re just an accessory. I came to get this idiot and bring him back where he belongs.” Elias walked up to Michael to smack his shoulder briefly, his scowl deep. “Your charitable works seem to have gotten the better of him.”

Bloody hell.

Rose’s face immediately reddened, and she took a step towards Elias, irritation written plain on her face.  Raising her hand, she thrust a finger into the architect’s face. “Excuse me, Mr. Johnson, but Michael came with me of his own accord. I would even hazard to say that it was his idea to follow me in the first place.”

“Yes, but he was following your gallivanting,” Elias replied without missing a beat. “Did you at all consider that when you encouraged him in this foolishness?”

They didn’t even know one another and they were already arguing. Michael didn’t know whether to be exasperated or amused.

Ultimately, however, he was given the chance to feel neither.

“No disrespect to either of you, but both of you shut it. We’re not here on a bloody joy ride.”

If Michael had been shocked when Elias emerged from the tank, he was almost shocked sideways when the lithe form of his sister, Alice, also appeared. She was, as always, impeccably dressed. Of course, she appeared completely out of place in the Congo with her crocodile handbag, fastidiously tailored pencil skirt and silk top, but anyone worth their mettle knew better than to question her. Alice was borderline obsessive about her personal appearance. After all, it was part of her job.

Both Elias and Rose simply stared at her for a moment, shocked into silence. But no one was more surprised than Michael himself. He stared as his sister climbed down from the tank amidst the commotion of soldiers chasing after the militiamen and checking on villagers. She was surprisingly graceful, considering she was wearing what appeared to be four or five inch heels. She didn’t even waver as she made her way over to Elias and Rose to look up at them both with knowing smiles. “Pardon my brusqueness, but we came here to retrieve you. If you want to have a bloody pissing contest about whose cause is nobler, you can do it on the jet.”

“Alice ?” Michael couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “What on earth are you doing here?”

His sister merely sighed, flipping her dark braid over a shoulder. “I just told you. Mother’s sent me to retrieve you. She’s having a flipping conniption and you left me there to deal with it. Some brother you are.”

At that, he had the decency to flush. There was no denying that he left the country without telling his mother. He had hoped that she wouldn’t get suspicious, but Elias’ presence here was evidence enough of what had happened. He’d been found out, and no doubt the countess had gone slightly off her head.

The subject of her outrage would have been Alice – which would explain why she’d come all this way to retrieve him.

Even so…the trip was somewhat outlandish. Even for a Tate.

“I…I’m sorry you had to come all the way out here-”

“You bloody well should be.” Alice had never cut him any slack before, and it was clear that she wasn’t about to start now. Her dark eyes gleamed with irritation as she glared at him. “I have no idea what you’ve done to upset Mum so much but she’s completely lost it. She demanded that I take time off work to come retrieve you and your little friend. So, I hope you’re happy. I had to cancel a meeting with Salvatore Ferragamo for you. Ferragamo , Mike.”

Alice was one of the few people in the world who could actually make him squirm with her verbal dressing down, and this one was pretty bad.  Elias, however, seemed perfectly content to watch him get torn apart. The architect was merely watching with his signature smirk.

Alice took a moment’s break from tearing him apart to take a look at the village around them. When her eyes fell on clusters of emaciated people, her expression softened almost immediately. “What happened here?”

For the first time since Alice had gone off, Rose finally piped up. To Michael’s surprise, the aggressive tone she’d taken with Elias had disappeared entirely. “There was a cholera epidemic. The militants they’re after came and stole all the supplies from this village. They were helpless and one of them reached out to me for help. I couldn’t just do nothing.”

It was the first time he had ever heard Rose try to justify herself to anyone else without reacting defensively, and Mike would be lying if he didn’t color himself intrigued.

Alice looked from the villagers to Rose and then back again, her expression neutral. Crossing her arms over her chest, she chewed on her lower lip before finally sighing. “I understand that .” She smoothed a few tendrils of hair from her brow. “Besides, it’s not you I’m put out with.” Alice jerked her head in Michael’s direction, making him wince. “It’s him.”

Goddamn it.

“Now, both of you, come on. These men will handle everything. The village will be safe and they’ll get the help they need. And you won’t get shot.” 

At that, Michael cast a glance in Rose’s direction and they both flushed guiltily.

With a sigh, Michael merely shook his head.  “We’ll go get our things.” He took Rose’s hand quickly to tug her away from both Elias and Alice and back towards the hut they’d been forced from. Rose said nothing, merely allowing herself to be pulled along until they were hidden from prying eyes.

Michael sighed, letting himself relax for the first time that morning, Despite the pretense upon which she’d come, his sister’s presence made his heart light – and Elias’ only helped to improve his mood. They had both come all this way to get him – Elias when he knew his wife might be due any week now.

He felt confident enough to allow himself a breather – at least, that was, until Rose’s hand connected unexpectedly with his cheek.

The stinging blow echoed around the enclosed space of the hut, and Michael found himself beyond words.  When he looked up, Rose was glaring at him, her eyes wet with what looked startlingly like tears. “You bloody fool!” She hissed, her hand shaking lightly. “What on earth were you thinking ? If they hadn’t arrived, those militants would have blown you to bits! You would have thrown your life away for nothing!”

Ah.

Michael gave her a long once-over. She was obviously upset – but he didn’t know if the fact that she was upset over him elated him or disturbed him. He hadn’t meant to make her cry. That had been the last of his aspirations. But, here it was. He’d put himself in danger and Rose was on the edge of tears.

Was it strange that in some perverse way, her tears made him happy?

“Rose, I’m sorry.” Stepping towards her, Michael took her wrists in a gentle grip. “They were hurting you. I got angry…I tried not to, but I couldn’t help it. Are you going to condemn me for wanting to help you?”

“If it’s at the cost of your own life, I damn well will!” Her voice was unsteady, her breath hitching on the last few syllables. The conflict with the militants had really shaken her- more so the little stunt he had pulled than anything else, apparently. When he moved to kiss her, however, Rose merely turned her face away stubbornly so his lips made contact just above her jaw. “Don’t . I’m angry with you, you lummox.”

At that, he stifled laughter. The only reason Rose stated the obvious was when she was struggling to believe it herself. In response to her protest, Michael merely pressed a soft kiss under her ear, then another against her neck, before working his way leisurely over the line of her throat.

Rose managed to stay stiff against him for all of twenty seconds before she sagged against his chest and let him hold her. Michael’s jaw still stung where she had struck him, but he supposed he deserved no less. It was a happy medium between a bullet hole in his head and coming out completely unscathed.

They packed quickly and efficiently once Rose had squirmed her way from his grip. Michael promised himself that he’d get to her later as he finished loading up his bag, and ultimately, they left their solitary hut in order to say their goodbyes to the villagers.

To his surprise, Michael found Elias consulting with a number of the village elders, instructing them on measures they could take to strengthen the roofs and foundations of the simple huts they’d built. In retrospect, Michael couldn’t say that he was too surprised. Trying to get Elias to take a moment away from working was like trying to squeeze blood from a turnip. Alice was speaking to a number of small children, all of whom were in awe of her “sky shoes”.

While his sister and best friend were occupied, Michael and Rose said their farewells. The entire village rushed into the square to see them off, and Michael found himself pulled into hearty embraces by those healthy enough to do so. They thanked him profusely, in the method that once made him uncomfortable, but now he found made his heart swell.

The first time someone had attempted to show gratitude this way, he and Rose had been in Britain at the soup kitchen. Michael hadn’t known what more he could do, save tell them it was his pleasure. But now, it was. He found himself genuinely regretting that he had to leave these people. He had learned so many names and faces, and he would always carry them with him.

“Doctor Michael!” In the midst of being smothered by several dark-skinned, elder women, Michael looked down to see Elisee standing shyly off to one side, one hand clenched firmly in Rose’s skirt. She looked up at Rose as if for reassurance. Rose merely nodded, her own cheeks flushing slightly.

Elisee broke from the young woman to launch herself at Michael’s knees, and the doctor caught her just in time, hoisting her into his arms. “Thank you for making me better, Doctor Michael .” The little girl wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed tightly, pressing small, warm lips to his cheek.

And Michael felt his heart stutter in his chest. “Please come back and visit .”

“Of course.” His voice was suddenly much too gruff. Gently, he lowered Elisee to the ground, ruffling her downy-soft ebony curls. “Take good care of your father.”

The young girl beamed, nodding enthusiastically, a moment before she turned to Rose once more. Michael watched Rose swing Elisee up to her arms, touching her nose to the little girl’s tiny one before she reached back to unclasp the pendant she wore from her neck. It was eighteen karat gold and ruby – modest but expensive. It must have cost a small fortune.

Rose didn’t hesitate before clasping it around Elisee’s neck. “Keep this safe for me until the next time I visit, alright ?”

And she would. Michael didn’t think there was a force on earth, militia included, who would be able to pry that necklace from Elisee’s small, slender fingers.

“Alright, alright. Our flight has to leave in a few hours. Get in the bloody tank.” Rolling his eyes, Michael looked back to find Elias watching him from the shade of a nearby hut. “I need some company or Alice is going to drive me out of my mind.”

“Likewise.” The young woman cast Elias a withering look before promptly linking arms with Rose. Alice would have had at least two or three inches on the blonde flat-footed, but in heels, she towered over her by a good half-foot. “So glad you’re here, Rose. I’m in need of some female company.”

Rose merely looked to Michael in a silent plea for help, but he only smirked at her. This was her punishment for striking him: she’d have to spend the entire trip back in the company of his sister. As fitting a revenge as any.

He and Elias slipped into the musty but, thankfully, air-conditioned, interior of one tank while the women dropped into the other, and then, all at once, they were on their way.

**

In Rose’s opinion, the trip back was almost as exhausting as the trip over had been. Once they returned to Kinshasha, it was evident exactly how much red tape Elias and Alice had cut through in order to be able to reach them. They were immediately taken in for questioning, and Rose faired about as well the second time around as she had the first.

Watching Alice, however, was almost as fascinating as watching her brother. It was obvious that the two of them were siblings, even if they bore little physical resemblance. The similarities in their personalities were uncanny, and Alice was the only woman Rose had seen actually cow Michael. She performed with the same grace under pressure as her older brother, and even though their interrogators were brusque and accusatory with them, Alice merely brushed them off as if they were flies.

It was a kind of poise Rose had to admit she was incapable of.

She didn’t get a chance to ask Alice about it, however, until they had boarded Michael’s jet at the airport. Elias promptly fell asleep once they were in the air and Michael, who seemed childishly amused by the idea of leaving Rose with his sister, disappeared into the bedroom – leaving the two women alone.

As exhausted as Rose was, she couldn’t deny being both interested in and intimidated by Alice. While she’d known that Michael had a sister, he barely mentioned her. In her head, Rose had built her up to be a younger clone of the countess, and now she could see that she was perhaps only half right.

By all appearances, Alice Tate was indeed a polished British lady at the height of fashion and poise. She sipped at her wine like it owed her money and despite having trudged through the dust of the Congo and being questioned for two hours, not a hair on her head was out of place.

But she was more than some titled rich lady. That much was evident in the way she’d dealt with her brother. Alice hadn’t simply thrown a tantrum and made demands, she had guilted her brother into doing what she asked and she hadn’t bat an eye. Of course, Rose felt little guilt about having run off without her parents’ permission. She did it all the time. But if Michael’s mother had really thrown such a fit, with him a man nearing forty…she had to question her motives.

“Was the countess really so upset?” She ventured over the rim of her own glass of wine. Alice looked surprised that she’d asked the question, setting aside the pad she’d been sketching on. She was, Rose noticed not for the first time, not only very posh, but also a stereotypical beauty. Long, dark hair, dark eyes and slightly tanned skin – in her physicality she was the antithesis of her brother.

“Oh…she throws tantrums all the time.” With a sigh, she waved her hand superfluously. “Certainly, this one was bigger than most, but I can imagine mother being put out over the idea that you’re possibly thwarting her big plans.”

Rose arched a brow, but she hardly needed to ask Alice to continue. The woman did so of her own accord.  “In her mind, Mike is as good as married. She assumed that he went off to Africa himself in a little show of defiance, and she still thinks that. She has no idea that you’re involved.”

Rose’s eyes widened as Alice took another sip of her wine. The young woman appeared completely calm, but Rose would be damned if she didn’t sense the slightest hint of warning in her tone. “Of course, there’s no reason for me to tell her…as long as I’m sure that you have my brother’s best interests in mind.”

Oh dear Lord. Was that what this was about? Alice was out to ensure that she wasn’t some gold-digging floozy out to drain Michael of every penny he had? The woman had to know that Rose was nobility in her own right. What possible reason could she have for wanting to steal Michael’s money?

“There are only about four weeks left in summer, you know. When everything is all said and done, I assume you both will go your separate ways?” The question was sudden and completely unexpected.

If Alice had asked it of Rose a month and a half ago, she would have been able to answer without hesitation. Now, when she opened her mouth to reply the affirmative, she found that the words wouldn’t pass her lips.

The realization was enough to make Rose’s heart stopped.

Her entire life, all she had ever truly been devoted to was the prospect of helping people. She loved her parents, but more than anything else, she considered them obstacles when it came to following her life’s passion. Rose had never truly had siblings, and she’d never been in a serious enough relationship to even consider halting in her travels.

In six weeks, Lord Michael Tate had changed something in her.

In a panic, the young woman’s thoughts whirled. She tried to convince herself that it had to be the sex. The man was disproportionately good in bed. When he touched her, her mind went soft and pliant, and she could think of nothing else but him. But the sex was all that mattered – there was nothing more. It wasn’t unusual for her to be flustered by a man who was good in bed, was it? She’d been with precious few men, and none of them knew what they were doing. Who wouldn’t want a man like Michael Tate at their beck and call?

But…that wasn’t it.

The longer she stared at Alice’s placidly waiting expression, the more confused she found herself. It…wasn’t just sex that drew her to Michael. She’d been intrigued by him the moment she saw him, and that intrigue had driven her to run for the hills. Within a week of meeting the man, every misconception she had about him had been blown out of the water. He had proven himself something beyond his family roots – a feat she desperately wished to accomplish herself.

He was a brilliant doctor – no one could deny that. And not only was he brilliant, he had the uncanny ability to stay calm under pressure. The world could be coming down on Michael Tate’s shoulders and he wouldn’t bat an eye.

…but when it came to a few Congolese militiamen roughing her up, he couldn’t contain himself. He just had to play the hero. And despite how angry Rose was at him for putting his life in jeopardy, when the man had jerked the gun away from the militia leader, her heart stopped.

Against all her better judgment, Rose liked the man. He was an upstanding individual where there were few to be had. He might have a smart mouth, but his heart was in the right place. God knew he was chivalrous enough, even if that chivalry was misplaced where she was concerned.

“I…imagine we’ll still stay in contact.” The sound of the half-hearted excuse coming from her own lips was enough to make the young woman wince. “He’s a very…upstanding individual.”

For a long moment, Alice merely stared at her, her dark eyes piercing. Then, slowly, she smiled, her expression turning from serious to amused within the space of three seconds. “Upstanding. Of course. How kind of you.” She refilled both her glass and Rose’s from the bottle the stewardess left with them before taking another sip.

For a moment, a comfortable silence fell between the two women. Rose allowed herself to believe she’d dodged a bullet, even as she contemplated why she was so viciously attracted to Michael. He was, without a doubt, one of the most singular males she’d ever met – but was that enough reason for him to haunt her every waking thought?

Perhaps it was just the wine.

“I’m going to give you a piece of advice, Rose.” Rose’s gaze jerked back to Alice’s when she spoke unexpectedly. Her companion was intensely concentrated on the sketch before her, her mouth pressed into a tight line of focus. “You seem like a very world-savvy individual. So take notice of the details around you.” Scowling, Alice erased a fine line before blowing rubber dust away delicately. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.” Rose stiffened at Alice’s words. “I’ve never seen him look at anyone that way. Ever.” She raised her gaze briefly to meet Rose’s. “He’s not a man that will take someone breaking his heart lightly.”

Her mouth fell open in shock.

Break his heart?

It was clear that Alice had completely misinterpreted what was between she and Michael. There were absolutely no hearts involved. Plenty of body parts, certainly, but she thought it was pretty clear that neither of them was interested in the marriage their parents seemed to be so obsessed with. She had known that this summer was going to be a disaster from the very start, only now it was turning into a disaster of very different proportions.

Everything was entirely muddled up.

Perhaps the stress of the Congo was beginning to fade now that Elisee and her fellows were safe, but the prospect of returning to Britain now had an entirely different connotation.

…What on earth had Michael told his sister to make her think that something serious was between them? As far as Rose could see, the man hadn’t been alone with her since the village. When would he have had time to gossip?

Even the image of a man as large as Michael gossiping was an absurd one.

She would have to spend the rest of the summer with the man and here his sister was, going on about breaking his heart? She obviously had no clue that her own brother was toying with Rose The man was flaky as all get-out, making her heart pound one moment and stringing her alone the next.

“Alice, I think you have the wrong idea-”

“I’m surprised that you ladies are still awake.” Rose’s mouth snapped in the middle of her sentence at Michael’s unexpected entry. They’d been in the air a good three hours, so she’d assumed he was asleep. “I’ve just come out for a nightcap.”

“Your Macallan is on hand,” Alice answered him off-handedly, never pausing in her drawing. “You might want to inhale the entire bottle before we get home to mother.”

Michael immediately winced, before shaking his head. “Better to keep a clear head.” He glanced at Elias’ quietly snoring form in the corner. “I’m sure Elias has had a few nips off the bottle.”

At that assessment, Alice made a face, glancing up at her brother. “I have no idea how you stand him. He’s completely full of himself.”

Michael chuckled, running a hand through his hair. It had grown out a bit since they’d been in Africa, and he hadn’t shaved in days. As a result, the man’s usually well-trimmed beard acquired a rugged look that Rose found she quite liked. 

She could certainly remember how his whispers had felt rasping against her inner thighs when the man had lowered his head between her legs…

The thought was enough to turn her entire face scarlet. Rose quickly took a sip of wine big enough to choke her and promptly coughed.

Inside an instant, Michael was at her side, taking her wine glass and thumping her on the back. “Alright, Rose? Something go down wrong?”

She shook her head frantically as she tried to speak. “I’m fine! Fine! ” Her words came out garbled and dry, only embarrassing her further. “Really, Michael, I’m all right!”

Alice was half watching them, a small, amused smile playing about her lips. 

Michael, of course, being who he was, couldn’t just release her. The man ran his fingers over her throat, checking her lymph glands in her neck and under her chin. Rose felt his touch tingling in the tips of her breasts, and lower…in places she had no idea thinking about in front of his sister. “If you’re sure then.”

Was it her imagination, or did the man’s fingertips linger on her throat before he finally drew them away?  Rose forced herself to reconsider as he crossed the cabin to retrieve a bottle of aged Macallan whiskey from the cabinet. He poured a glass with fingers she’d see dexterously close up a wound and threw back his first drink back effortlessly. When he poured himself another, Rose couldn’t help but be transfixed by the motion of his throat as he swallowed. She had kissed that throat – sucked and licked on it until he groaned her name.

God , why couldn’t she get him out of her head?

Rose leapt to her feet, setting aside her wineglass. “I’m going to the restroom.” It was all she could think to say before she bolted to the washroom. Once inside, she closed the door firmly behind her before leaning against it. Jesus, the man had only looked at her and her heart was thundering against her ribs.

It had to be the wine. How many glasses had she had again?

Leaning down, Rose splashed water on her face, taking a deep breath before assessing her own reflection in the mirror. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright…and she felt almost as if the room was spinning. She was almost certainly drunk.

Rose’s problem was simply that she didn’t know whether she was inebriated with wine, or with Lord Michael Tate.